At First Glance
by moonlessmondays
Summary: "It's peculiar, really, how she reacts to him and she has to remind herself that this is the first time she's met this man, that she doesn't know him, and surely this is just a harmless crush—Yet when he looks up and finds her looking at her, she feels her heart leap to her throat, feels the world stop just at the moment..." Cobert Modern AU. Crossposted from Tumblr
1. Chapter 1

**I made a promise to Zai that I would post this in here and see if y'all who might not have read it before would like it. In which case, I'd have to decide what to do with it. so here we are. This is a one-shot cross posted from tumblr that I'm putting up as a separate fic because it** ** _might_** **be a multichap. It all depends.**

 **Enjoy beauties!**

* * *

Cora taps her pen against her desk lightly, softly, not really wanting to disturb the class in their mindless chatter, but trying to dispel the beat that has been playing on her brain for the last couple of minutes. She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, bored, irritated, and quite frankly just ready to go home. Or what home is here in London anyway.

It's been a really gloomy day—the skies are dark and it's been raining all day. But then again, what did she really expect? While living in England does have its perks—like putting thousands of miles between herself and her mother—it still has its downsides, one being that it rains almost every day and the weather is always all sorts of grey. Though, when she thinks about it, the pros still outweigh the cons, and she really can manage, she can live with it.

Most days, she doesn't really complain, doesn't really mind the rain and glum, even finds it romantic at night when the pavements are lit with yellow lights, the breeze cold against her skin. She likes it, likes that she can pretend to be in a movie as she walks down the Piccadilly Circus, likes that she can be free. But today has just been rough, really rough, it's just been absolute shit day, and she almost can't believe that it's only the second week of the semester. It doesn't help that her professor for the class is running late, and has already been absent the week prior. It's her last class, and the faster it gets on, the faster it gets done. The faster she gets home, too.

She looks up at the clock right at the front of the room, directly above the board and sighs almost gratefully, five more minutes and they're all free to go—she almost counts the minutes down, drums her pen to the same beat as every tick of the clock. She breathes in, out, before she pauses and collects her things, throws them carelessly inside her purse and zips it up. She can see most of the class do the same, with the same relieved look in their faces.

But just as the time dwindles down to three more minutes to freedom, the door bursts open, and a tall man with light brown hair comes in, drenched and looking all sorts of grumpy. He cannot possibly be mistaken as anyone else other than their professor and there is a collective groan that comes from the class, making the professor look at them with raised eyebrow. Cora could almost roll her eyes, but instead she sinks back into her seat defeatedly.

"If you don't want to be here, the door is open for you to go and leave," the man says, addressing the class, "Bring your hopes and dreams of passing this class with you, too."

So, he's not only grumpy but he's also terrifying, Cora thinks as she fishes out her notebook and pen from her purse before she puts it back down on the ground. She watches with rapt attention as the professor moves over to the desk after a few minutes of watching his class, waiting, no doubt if someone is about to leave the class, as he'd said. No one did, however, and the professor just turns back and peels off his wet coat, placing at the back of the chair, before he addresses the class again.

Cora's heart stops as she looks into her professor's eyes, and she wonders, asks herself if this is normal, if this is...what is it exactly? There's a moment that passes and she feels like she can't breathe, can't quite grapple what's happening, when his eyes meet hers and he stops, mouth open a little, as though he is about to say something but stops just as he sees her.

Cora thinks it's nothing but a mere fantasy, that he should see her, that he should notice her in a room of a hundred something students...he can't possibly notice her. But he holds her stare and for a moment it's just him and her, in that moment, and Cora could almost convince herself that this _is_ a movie where she's the heroine meeting her hero for the first time.

But it's not.

And after a beat and a half, the professor snaps out of his daze and looks at the students again, away from her, and clears his throat.

"This is English History and I'm Professor Crawley, Robert Crawley, and no you may not call me by my first name or my last name. But you may call me Professor or Sir, or Dr. Crawley if you want to be accurate," he tells the group of twenty or twenty somethings that made up his class. "I apologize for being late, today, personal things and all that. I know you'll all forgive me. I can't say the same about late assignments, however. Late pass, no grade—and you can watch it fly right to the bin." He pauses and watches the crowd.

Cora bites down on her lip and sighs. Why does she feel this way? It's stupid. She doesn't even know the man except for his name and that he's her professor for the semester. He doesn't know her, and most probably won't because there are more than a hundred students just in this class and god knows how many classes he handles.

It's a stupid feeling...

Yet, her heart thumps in her chest, trip hammers, and she finds it just a little bit difficult to breather when he speaks and moves. He's attractive alright, that much is true, though his disposition leaves a lot to be desired (to be honest, it could just be the rain and the fact that he's soaked), and she should _not_ be entertaining any thoughts in this likeness, at all, but still she does. And there isn't much she could do about the physical response she makes about him.

God, how stupid and how weak—it's only been the first hour, not even a full hour, come to think of it.

"You, Miss in the black and white dress," she hears him say, tearing through her daze and alarm bells ring in the back of her mind as she vaguely remembers that she _is_ wearing a black and white dress that day. She looks up at him in question and points to herself.

Why did she choose to sit near the front anyway?

"Me?" she asks with trepidation as she stares back at him. His eyes are gorgeous, goodness god, and god he's looking at her.

"Yes you," he answers with derision, "Do you want to repeat to the class what I just said?"

She would, if she could, but that's out of the question since she's been immersed in her thoughts, day dreaming about the man who's now quizzing her about what he's just said. Such bad luck that she doesn't know, she could have impressed him. He raises an eyebrow when time passes and she cannot speak, and then he just sighs.

"A classic example of what I mean," he says, "Don't listen to my class and you miss a lot of things. My consultation hours would be posted just outside my office. Classes will begin next week, I'm expecting everyone to be prepared. My class is not the time to snooze so if you're only going to sleep, might as well not attend and I'll see you in the next semester. For the rest of you, I'll see you next week."

And then with just that, the class is dismissed and Professor Crawley walks over to the table and gathers his things. The students slowly pile out of the room, everyone speaking to the other, creating a buzzing noise.

Cora packs her things slowly and tries to get a subtle look at the professor, tries to calm herself down and let herself breathe. It's peculiar, really, how she reacts to him and she has to remind herself that this is the first time she's met this man, that she doesn't know him, and surely this is just a harmless crush—as it should be nothing more, this man is off limits.

Yet when he looks up and finds her looking at her, she feels her heart leap to her throat, feels the world stop just at the moment and everything seems to revolve around those beautiful blues.

He looks over at her and nods (and dear god, is that a smile?), before walking out, making his way through the thinning pile of students at the door.

Oh God, she's in trouble.

"You're so stupid, so weak," she tells herself with agitation. So stupid and so weak indeed to fall for a small smile and a beautiful pair of blue eyes, to feel something for a stranger who is as off limits as he could be...yet, feel something she does, and stupid and weak she might be for it, she really can no longer stop it.

He's had her at first glance.

* * *

 **Prompt:** ** _Cobert + "You're so stupid, so weak"_**

 **So I'm not really sure how much I want to continue this, well I do, really, but I don't know if y'all would. Let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

Yello! If you're following me on tumblr, you know this has been brewing for a while now, and well, it is time. I have no idea what's going on and what's going to happen, but you know, we'll see.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

He's running late.

Not that it should matter really, since he's the professor, but he's already missed the class last week, and now he's running late. It isn't like he'd wanted to be, or that he's supposed to be. In fact, he had planned to leave his house earlier than he had, knowing the traffic would be hell and that it would be raining (and good luck hailing a taxi then), but it seems that fate had other plans.

It just so happened that his daughter had been temperamental and had thrown a tantrum at the idea of him leaving her again with her nanny. Of course, it had broken his heart to see his daughter wailing (a residual guilt of not being able to provide her with what she needs the most, _a mother_ , gnawing at his insides), so he'd ended up staying a little bit longer than he's planned, easing her in until she's only whimpering in his arms instead of the sobs that had wracked her young body. It is only then, and with a promise of ice cream the following day, that his daughter finally settled down and allowed him to hand her off to the sitter.

He's left to wonder how much a three year old could even have that much hold on him. But then, Mary is everything to him, the only part of his late wife that still exists, and he would gladly move mountains for her if she'd asked.

When he'd left the house, it had been pouring outside and hailing a taxi had seemed virtually impossible. Once he'd managed, he'd been too sure that he's going to be late. And he had been—his whole class had been in the middle of packing when he entered the room, and the collective groan that resounded the moment he'd stepped inside the room had both amused and annoyed him.

"If you don't want to be here, the door is open for you to go and leave," he says, addressing the class, "Bring your hopes and dreams of passing this class with you, too."

He moves then to the table and leans against it, staring at his class, waiting for one brave soul to walk out of the classroom. Of course, his words are not mere threat, and if someone walks out, they can kiss graduating out of this class goodbye. His eyebrow rises when no one moves, not even breathes, and he pushes himself off from where he is leaning to peel off his coat and hang it at the back of his chair. He mentally smirks before he moves to walk back to the centre of the room.

He scans the class: a bunch of twenty something hoping to get out of his class unscathed and with high marks, probably, though he's not about to make that easy for them. He moves his eyes from face to face, trying to remember as much as he can, but he stops short when someone, a girl sitting on the second row, with eyes so blow and skin so pale stares at him with rapt attention. His heart stutters, his throat closes, and the connection between his brain and his mouth seem to have been cut somehow. There is a moment, one brief moment when he's not even sure what has just happened, only that it's a singular moment that has time stopping and his heart racing.

But no, no, it's stupid and weak to be thinking that. She's his student, he is her teacher, no matter what that moment means...it's not something he should or would pursue.

He breathes deeply and counts to three before he moves along, trying to pretend that nothing has happened. But he's lying to himself. That isn't the truth. Something has happened in that moment, and he's not exactly sure what.

Now is not the time to dwell in it though.

So he moves on, tells the class his name, gives a fair warning of what to expect and what not to do. He goes on about how they should all listen to him when he's speaking, even when he's not even entirely sure what has been coming out of his mouth. His mind drifts to blue eyes and black hair, pale skin. His eyes move to her without his permission, and he tried, god he tries to dismiss the thought, even tries to put the girl on the spot, just for the sake of his own, though the reasons are lost to him.

When she speaks and he hears her voice, it feels like he's been hit. Hit by something he isn't even sure what.

All he knows is that her voice is music to her ears, and it shouldn't feel this way. No it should not.

He almost breathes a sigh of relief when he's finally dismissed the class. It means that he can sort out his thoughts and get his mind off this funk. Sure, she's a pretty girl, there had been a lot of other pretty girls—that doesn't mean anything though, it can't.

So with a soft smile and a nod to her (because he's noticed that she's looking at him, as though she's not entirely sure how to act or react), he walks out of the classroom.

…

Cora flops back in her bed in frustration. She shouldn't be thinking about _him._ It isn't very proper, but propriety be damned because she couldn't stop thinking about him. His blue eyes follow her everywhere, and even when she closes her own, the sparkling pair he owns haunt her.

It's stupid really, the insane amount of attraction she feels for her professor. For the love of God, he's her teacher—and though this stupid attraction she feels for him won't go away, that's all he will ever be to her: her teacher.

It isn't like he's interested in her in the same way. She knows he's not, and why should he? She's his student.

And it's that thought that she brings with her the following week when she attends another of his lecture. She sits at the middle, where she can blend in with the rest of the class and where she's not easily seen and thus, does not give him another opportunity to call her out in class.

She sits on her desk idly, watching as the room slowly fills up with throngs of students. Most of them look anxious, and she can relate, although it might be for a different reason. Sure, she's terrified of the professor, too, but her anxiety has more to do with the fact that she isn't sure how her heart would react to seeing him again.

Hearts, after all, are traitorous little buggers.

Chatter fills the hall, and Cora looks down on her watch. A watched pot never boils, she reminds herself as she taps her foot on a rhythm. Suddenly, the door creaks and opens. Their professor slides in, looking every bit as attractive in his dishevelled self as he is now, looking poised and prepared.

Silence falls in the room, and everyone sits straighter in their chair as Professor Crawley surveys the room with narrowed eyes. He places his briefcase on the table and then clears his throat. He walks over to the girl on the farthest right and hands her a piece of paper.

"That will be your attendance for today. Write your name and sign it," he instructs and then walks back to the front of the room.

Christ almighty, he looks good enough to eat.

 _Wake up, Cora._

 _Stop thinking like this._

 _He's your professor._

It's hard though, and throughout the one hour class, Cora fights to keep her attention on the lecture and not the way the professor's bicep flexes when he writes something on the board.

Jesus F. Christ, she needs to stop.

She breathes audibly and slumps on her chair as her focus drifts from her, and she finds herself wondering how it'd feel to have those arms wrapped around her-something she should _not_ be thinking about because it won't happen. It's also very wrong.

But maybe, just maybe there isn't anything wrong with looking. It isn't like she's going to do anything about the attraction she feels for him, or that she can do anything about it.

He's far too out of her league, anyway.

…

Robert's intention isn't to seek her out, not really. But the girl sticks out from the crowd with her black hair and alabaster skin and striking blue eyes. It's hard not to look out for her when she seems to stick out like a sore thumb among the plain and dull sea of students. He'd seen right the moment he'd walked inside the room, and tried to quell the anxiety he'd felt upon seeing her. She's so beautiful, so prim and proper as she sits on her chair quietly, waiting for him to arrive. She looks glorious there, looking anxiously at the door, biting down on her lips.

She makes him wonder, honestly, and though he knows next to nothing about the young woman, and it makes very little sense to want to know anything, he does want to-he wants to get to know her, wants to talk her and hear her talk about herself. He wants to know why she's in London, when she clearly sounds very American, wants to know if she likes being alone, like she seems to favour (he'd not seen her having conversation with any of her classmates), wants to know more about her—if she's seeing someone...and nope, no, those are not things he _has_ to know.

He clears his throat after placing his briefcase on his desk and instructs them to sign on the paper that will be going around the room for attendance. He tries to shift attention from her, because while he doesn't doubt that he can spend the next two hours wondering about her and staring at her, it's not favourable, and none of the students would appreciate it. So he does what he's supposed to do and begins his lecture on classical pieces and the central themes, and all the important things that everyone in the room-including himself-had come in for.

When the lecture is over, he picks up the attendance sheet from the girl on the farthest left side of the room and dismisses his class. He takes a seat behind his desk to wait for the stragglers or answer some questions from the kids who care a little more about their grades than the rest, and for those who are genuinely interested to learn.

He watches her in the corner of his eyes as she piles out of the room slowly along with the rest of his class, silently wishing she'd stayed one more minute like she'd done last week. But those thoughts are not exactly ones he should be having, so he exchanges them in favour of the safer, more appropriate ones: like the questions he's being asked about his lecture.

He'll think about her later. No doubt, yeah, later.

…

Cora likes winding the day down with a large cup of caramel cappuccino and her thoughts, occasionally, with a cookie or a muffin as well. Sometimes, she'd take those to go and spend the afternoon after classes in her apartment reading, or writing, or sketching. Most days, she spends it on the bookstore and coffee shop right down the corner from the University, near her apartment. It's owned by a girl named Daisy who had an equal love for books and pastries, and had then had the idea of merging the two—her coffee isn't half bad either, and had been able to get Cora through a lot of long nights. An added bonus of the coffee shop being open 24 hours has been a blessing.

It doesn't hurt either that it's not frequented by a lot of students, as most of them favour the two _Starbucks_ shops across each other. Not that she's judging them, but she rather prefers the quaint and quiet ambiance of _Daisy's,_ than the hipster vibes and crowded space of the more famous coffee shop.

It is where she is now—nursing a cup of caramel cappuccino in her hands, a half eaten piece of mint chocolate chip cookie on the table and her book for this week's literature assignment sitting on her lap. She's on page twenty-something but she's almost sure she won't go far today. Her mind is far too occupied. Occupied by a certain blue eyed professor. Not for the first time since meeting him, she wonders if it's attraction or obsession.

She doesn't think she's obsessed, not really, she does know her boundaries. It is just hard to get him out of her mind, and his eyes just haunt her everywhere. And she just cannot concentrate because he is constantly on her mind, but other than that—pretty much normal.

Maybe, she's thought that by now she's curbed the crush, after all, it's been a few weeks since the classes had started, and a few weeks since she'd fist seen him and felt her heart beating so hard inside her chest, it almost physically hurt.

But well, she guesses, it's not that easy.

It isn't like she hasn't been caught in throes of her first crush, though. She has had crushes before, has even fancied herself in love once—but that seems such a long time ago. She's older now, wiser than she'd been at sixteen—six years of growth had allowed her that at least—and she isn't going to be caught up in such a stupid, weak thing such as love.

She is _not_ going to fall down that path.

She is resolute in that, at least, and she tries to drill that to her head as she turns her attention back to her book. It's the assigned reading for Dr. Crawley's class—which, of course, does very little to divert her attention from the very same man who has been running around in her head for a while now. She manages, however, to pass time, and it isn't long before the sun is setting and she has been, once again, submerged in the story.

"Excuse me, I hate to be a bother, but this is the only table near the plug that isn't already filled, do you mind terribly if I sat her awhile to charge?" she hears someone ask, and she looks up to find the man she's been trying to stop thinking about, staring at her-his phone on one hand and his charger on the other.

Of course, it's close to the plug, she's chosen it for that particular reason, and of course she knows this is a public place and that she's not supposed to hog the space, but she kind of wants to if it means that she can push him away.

She swallows and then nods. "Of course," she says softly as she reaches for her things scattered on the table and gathers them, putting them away on the side. "Let me just make space for you, Professor Crawley."

Professor Crawley looks at her and nods. "Thank you," he says and takes the seat across from her. He plugs the charger to the socket on the wall and waits as it turns on. "You're my student right? I remember you from one of my lectures."

Cora feels her heart beating inside her chest wildly. He remembers _her._ Of all the students in his classroom, he remembers _her_ , and that, well, that's amazing.

"I am," she confirms, as if her calling him professor isn't enough to clue him in. "I take your literature class every Tuesday and Thursday, last period."

" _Ah,"_ he says with a nod. He grins at her. "You're Miss Levinson right?" he asks and she would be lying if she doesn't say that her knocks three times faster upon finding out that he does know her, and even more, he knows her name. She nods slowly, barely able to hide her surprise. "It's okay not to call me Professor outside of class." His face scrunches up in distaste, and it's so cute and adorable and utterly handsome that she thinks her ovaries might burst. "Quite frankly, I feel like it makes me feel old."

Her eyebrow rises at that but she chooses not to remind him that it is his own imposition that the students, under no uncertain terms, should call him _Professor_ or _Doctor Crawley,_ because that is the proper way.

He seems to understand her unvoiced question because he chuckles. "I have to ask them to be proper because I don't want them to start calling me _mate_ or like C-dawg, or bro, or some sort of weird vernacular that's popular among kids these days," he tells her, making her smirk. The way he'd said _dawg_ would have made her guffaw, had she not been too jittery to be around this beautiful specimen of a man. She hadn't expected herself to be comfortable around him, but right now it is exactly what she feels—if she discounts the butterflies doing somersaults in her stomach. "I had learned my lesson when in my third year of teaching, someone called me mate in front of the dean and had been promptly chewed out for not being able to insight respect from my students." He scrunched his face again and then rolled his eyes. "That Dean was definitely a crab...and a traditionalist, to put it mildly."

Cora chuckles. She doesn't know how or why, but they're having a lovely chat with each other...and they're actually really comfortable...but well, she isn't going to question it.

"Well, um, I guess there's no need to call me Miss Levinson all the time, outside of class either," she tells him casually, before remembering exactly who she is talking to and mentally kicking herself. "I mean, um, Cora is fine."

He smiles her in a way that tells her that he's noticed her discomfort, amused by it, but has the good sense not to point it out. She bites down on her lower lip and sighs.

What an idiot. Really, what a fucking idiot.

…

This feels like flirting.

He shouldn't really be letting this happen, should have more control than this, and should know better than to _flirt_ with a student. Sure, it's innocent—merely just exchanging names and being polite and making small talk—it's all harmless. And to be fair, it isn't what is bothering him about all this—not the fact that they're talking to each other like they are friends, because that's not exactly wrong, now is it? It's the way he's feeling, like there's something sitting in his stomach, something fluttering, and it's not at all that unpleasant—in fact it's quite the opposite—and when has he ever felt this way? For any of his students, most especially (and he has quite a variety of students he'd taught in the last six years he'd been in this profession)?

That's bloody right—never. He has never felt this way, not with anyone.

And damn in, she's so beautiful. She is so beautiful and she's not even trying.

She's smiling and chuckling and her eyes are shining as the corners of her mouth are pulled up, and bloody hell, she's amazing like that, looks beautiful like that. He thinks himself stupid, even weak to be feeling something like this, something so strong for someone who's he doesn't even know, someone whose looks are enough to make his tongue turn and his heart race and his mind to go mushy and useless...someone who is his student. She's off limits, and he knows that, and though he feels an insane kind of instant attraction to her, he knows it won't get any further than that. He won't let it...can't let it.

He won't and can't let another pretty face ruin his life and turn it upside down.

There is more at stake now.

"How'd you come to find _Daisy's_?" He asks her because he had been thoroughly surprised to have found her there when he knows that kids her age prefer to hang out at the two other Starbucks round the corner. _Daisy's_ isn't very popular among their age group, though it serves better food and frankly, better coffee at a more reasonable price. "You're not hanging out at Starbuck's?"

She makes a face and shakes her head. "While I do not detest their coffee because to me coffee is coffee as long as it has caffeine in it, I do think _Daisy's_ serve it better," she tells him. And he really couldn't disagree with that.

He looks at her for a moment, just taking her in, when his phone beeps, and _ah,_ the reason he's here in the first place. He had been responding to an email from a student disputing the grade he'd given him for an assignment when his battery emptied and his phone died. He'd scoured the place then, looking for a plug and found one in the very table he's sitting in. When he had realized who had been sitting there, his heart had stuttered and he'd given himself a pause, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat. It had taken him a full five minutes before he'd squared his shoulders and braved it, asking her if he could sit with her.

It's paid off now that he's chatting with her and she's laughing in that beautiful way that makes his heart skip a beat. She really is startlingly beautiful.

He looks away from her for a moment to send the email he'd composed before his phone had shut down. It is mercifully saved in his drafts so he hadn't really needed to rewrite the whole thing. While he is busy responding to the email, she'd returned to the book she had been reading. He recognizes it as the reading assignment he's given for this week and he smiles.

"How do you like it so far?" He asks her, eager to hear her speaking again.

She shrugs. "I like it. I'm barely past twenty-five pages but I have read this before and thoroughly enjoyed it. I had been in high school then, though, so I doubt I can make an informed opinion." She chuckles again, and he fights the urge to smile. "I'm curious you would pick this over the other Bronte sisters' books which are more popular." She holds up her copy of ' _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall '_ which looks like it's been loved but not necessarily worse for wear.

"While I do agree that _Jane Eyre_ is more popular and that _Wuthering Heights_ is the best in terms of literary styles, I have always admired the tenacity that propelled Anne to write this book." He points to the book in her hands. "It had been controversial, the issues she'd tackled in the book at the time, that Charlotte had to ask for the publication be stopped after Anne's death."

Cora nods, agreeing. "It is rather relatable...even more so than the other two. The issues they had been so reluctant to tackle are still the same things we turn a blind eye to today. The best thing about the book is that the fallacies of men and flaws and faults are not shrouded and hidden behind an idea of a fictitious monster or that of a mysterious, dark place with a lot of history. Or that a man's mistake is not hidden in the attic in the form of a deranged woman, but it's there, in clear view, in plain sight and depicted as it is. The human follies that we want to ignore or not associate to men even in literary form because it's not spoken about, or because it is simply taboo to think or _talk_ of it...it's there and it's clear and that it is exactly the demon that Helen is combating. It is especially tragic that she's lost the man she loves to the worldly evils...so to speak."

Robert sits there in sheer amazement of this young woman. For someone who literally just told him that she's read the book back in high school and does not feel competent enough to make an educated opinion about the book—her commentary is highly intellectual. He doesn't know her and therefore cannot say that he knows for sure that she's smart, but he's had an inkling, had hoped that she is—and she doesn't disappoint.

He stares at her, fighting the urge to smile. She looks at him worriedly, before biting on the lip...again.

"What?" she asks, looking so scared as though she thinks she might have spoken out of turn, or had done something wrong. She looks like such a frighten little dove.

He shakes her head and finally lets that smile break through his lips, directing it at her. "And here I thought you said you can't give an informed opinion just yet," he tells her, teasing, wanting to put her at ease. "That was very good and very educated, Cora. I do hope you share your thoughts more during class."

She looks at him in surprise before looking down and biting down on that lip for the third time—and she bloody needs to stop doing _that_ because it makes _him_ want to do it (and fuck, these are not the thoughts he should be letting himself think)—and then she nods slowly, as if she doesn't know exactly how intelligent she is and how attractive that is. And maybe, she probably doesn't. Robert finds that just charming.

"I'll do what I can," she murmurs in response and he nods slowly, trying to curb his eagerness, and gives her a soft smile. He hopes it helps reassure her.

She then gives him a shy smile. And damn. She really _is_ a beautiful woman.

 **...**

Cora's smile could light up the entire London as she walks to her apartment. It's weird, to have had such a conversation with Doctor—well, Robert—simply because she hadn't expected it. She knows how other people might misconstrue it all, that simple, innocent meeting and she worries, but then again, it is innocent, merely a stroke of fate that she should end up with the booth closest to the power source on that one time he'd needed it. That isn't scandalous at all, is it?

Even if it is, or even if people would think that it is, she doesn't think she minds right at that moment, as great as she feels right at that moment.

She feels like she could walk on clouds right then.

She is still smiling when she gets back to her apartment, and she almost dances her way to her bedroom, and is only barely able to stop herself from being too giddy because she's not really like that-has never been the one to dance around the room, never the one to believe in romance and butterflies.

"You look happy," her roommate, Phyllis, remarks as she comes waltzing in their apartment.

Cora startles, not having realized that her roommate is there at the moment. She'd thought that her roommate had a class all day. After being roommates for a little bit over two years now, it's been natural for them to know each other's schedule. It also helps them during the times one is out and the other is in, and they'd ask to get some takeout for dinner, or lunch.

"I thought you have a class today?" Cora asks her roommate, raising an eyebrow curiously. She looks up at the clock and sees that it's barely six in the evening. Her roommate isn't supposed to be there until at least thirty minutes later.

"What are you doing here?"

Her roommate shrugs. "Usual—the professor's out," she tells her, and Cora nods in understanding.

"Right," she says before she walks a little bit more into the room and drops her bags to the floor. She plops down the couch, her lips turning up into a smile once again. She sighs softly and closes her eyes as she leans back.

"So what happened?" she hears Phyllis ask, and she could hear her put her book down and could see in her mind's eye as her roommate leans forward, trying to find the signs that would tell her exactly why Cora is so happy. "You're awfully cheerful."

Phyllis Baxter has been her roommate since she'd transferred to London in her second year where they had both stayed at the campus hostel until they'd moved out of it the very summer, opting to move into a flat together-one that is big enough for them, but not too big that they'd struggle with the upkeep. Now that they are in their last, they'd remained friends and roommates and had been talking about getting a place together outside of the campus radius while they get their feet wet in the adult world-well that's if Cora stays, which has been a point of disagreement in the household she'd left behind in the States.

Cora shakes her head. "Not much," she says, trying to act nonchalant, even as her lips turn up into a full beam. God, she is awfully cheerful today. She opens her eyes and widens it as Phyllis looks at her suspiciously.

Phyllis barely looks convinced. "Yeah, right," she mutters, shaking her head. "Is it your hot professor?"

Cora, though she tries to fight it, feels her cheeks warm and could almost see her neck redden. She can't hide it, not from Phyllis who has become her best friend and who knows everything about her, even those that she doesn't know herself. Her best friend can actually read her like a book.

"Ah," Phyllis hummed knowingly. "It is about Professor _Mchottie_ , then, isn't it?"

Cora couldn't help the snort that she makes upon hearing the nickname. It's the one she'd asked her best friend not to use countless of times, but the very one she uses herself when she's thinking of Robert.

"If you must know," Cora begins, looking away to hide the smirk and the blush that's currently colouring her face. "It is about Dr. Crawley."

"I knew it," Phyllis says, nodding excitedly. "So tell me about it."

Cora sighs. "Will you let me stop at 'He's so dreamy?'" she asks and smirks because she knows what the answer will be.

"Of course not!" Phyllis exclaims as she shakes her head resolutely. Cora knows that-of course. No way will Phyllis let this go. "You have to give me all the details."

Cora lets her smile turn into a grin as she launches into the story of today's events. When she finishes, there's a deep frown that's settled on Phyllis's face, and she looks so thoughtful it almost scares Cora.

"What?" Cora asks consciously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she nibbles on her bottom lip. This doesn't seem like it's going to end well.

"Nothing," her roommate says. Cora glares at her and she sighs, breathing in deeply. "Fine, I just...I know it's harmless and you aren't technically doing anything wrong..."

"But?" Cora supplies when Phyllis takes a bit to continue her thoughts.

She sighs again. "But just be careful, okay?" she finally says. "It's not fun to jump into an abyss and find nothing but endless emptiness on the way and nothing substantial to land to."

Cora breathes in. She knows that. She's always known that. She knows how difficult this situation is going to be if it continues on. But that's it: she knows it won't. She knows it because she knows he won't let it, and she won't let it.

And no matter how wonderful this moment is, it's all it's ever going to be: a moment.

...

There's something funny about a moment-a moment can become moments and then it grows and grows, and along with it so does attachment, and what once used to be innocent, and a one-time thing, a moment in time where roads and time somehow crossed become something more.

Just like meeting Cora at Daisy's had been a moment, a chance encounter when their time and their roads aligned and they had both been at the same place at the same time.

Nothing more. At least, then it had been nothing more. Lately, it doesn't feel like that anymore.

Though it isn't like he'd planned it or it's something they'd talked about, he reasons with himself. Neither one of them had really talked about meeting there, or being there at the same time. They hadn't planned to sit at the same table and chat about life. He certainly had not planned on telling her personal things that she hadn't needed to know because she's just his student. Yet, he's found himself telling her of Mary, of how Mary's mother is no longer in the picture, though not in great detail why, just that she is. He tells her of his fond memories when he first started teaching, of some of his fondest memories growing up in Yorkshire.

He tells her a lot of things and she in turns does the same. She's told him of wanting to get away from her parents, of the heavy weight of pressure they'd place upon her. She tells him of the liberation she'd felt once she'd transferred and studied what she likes to. And though she has worked a compromise between herself and her parents, her love for the social studies and the arts over their need for her to study economics so she could take over the family business, that had her ending up majoring in Sociology of all things, with minor courses in economics and extra courses and electives in the art (Robert thanks his lucky stars that his class is a required class for Sociology majors), she doesn't regret it because she does like what she's doing now.

She tells him of life in New York, of vacations in New Port. She tells him of her brother, of how often he gets in trouble, and how often Cora has to pick up the slack.

They tell each other a lot of things, which is weird and something he believes is almost not right.

They're not friends, or at least, they're not supposed to be. They're not supposed to have clandestine rendezvous, and not, it isn't clandestine, they aren't exactly hiding it, and well it's not like Daisy's is a very private place, is it?

He supposes that it's a good thing that it isn't, he can't and doesn't want to imagine the magnitude of gossip that would come if they'd had met on a more private setting even if they're meeting only as friends and nothing more—not that a lot of people would believe that.

That's not what his problem is though, because honestly, he prefers not to over analyze and prefers not to think about problems that have yet to materialize. What his problem is the fact that he enjoys these little meetings with her, that he likes spending time with Miss Cora Levinson, born and raised in New York, with her sparkling blue eyes and disarming smile.

It's a dangerous territory, a rather weird place for him to be in, for he knows nothing can happen, he knows nothing will, yet he has come to look forward to the days he know he will find her in the cafe, her nose buried in her book, with a cookie in on one hand and a caramel cappuccino on the other.

It's not that he doesn't like it, in fact, that's become the problem: he does, far too much, and though he easily could say they shouldn't keep meeting like this (intentionally or not), his heart isn't in it and he doesn't really want to say it in the end, because, well, he enjoys these meetings, these little moments that has become a part of his life.

Is it stupid of him? Yes.

Is he going to get in trouble for it? Most probably?

Is he feeling things he shouldn't feel for a student? Most definitely.

Is he going to do something about it? Not likely.

And thus, he finds himself on his way to Daisy's, knowing that at this specific time of the day she'll be there working on some assignment or an essay. She'd be cozy and comfy on the corner couch, her laptop plugged as she types away—which is exactly how he finds her when he steps into Daisy's, unwinding his scarf and then pulling his coat off.

She looks beautiful, something that he's always known, something that he's first noticed about her, as she bites down on her lip. Her brows are furrowed in concentration and she's typing a mile a minute. It must be for Hughes' contemporary literature class that she's taking. He knows for a fact that Elsie likes to send her students home with essay after essay to gauge what they'd understood, which is fair enough, but tedious in his opinion.

Cora definitely has very strong feelings against having to write an essay for the course subject week in and week out, but since he's read her essays every after she's done it and has been thoroughly impressed by her logic and her way with words, he knows Elsie would have been too. No doubt, Cora would get top marks, and he's not just saying that because he fancies her, quite a bit. He says it as a scholar who has had the chance to read so many stupid, half-assed essays over the years.

He makes three quick strides to the booth he now privately claims as their own, and smiles when she doesn't notice him standing there. Even when he plops on the chair across hers, she doesn't lift her eyes from where it is focused on her laptop screen.

He smiles and shakes his head, getting up again to order a cup of coffee for himself and a refill for her-he'd noticed that she's running low on supply of caffeine and wants to rectify that. When Daisy dishes his drinks to him, and a cookie to share on a plate—warm and gooey, something he's come to know that she enjoys a lot, he walks back their table.

She seems like she's almost done, is now typing at a steady speed, before she says a soft, triumphant 'ah', and then closes her laptop. By then he's already seated and placing her new cup in front of her before taking the cup he bought for himself.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly before he takes a sip of his drink.

She startles, "Oh," she says, before smiling sheepishly. "I didn't notice you come in."

Robert laughs and shakes his head. "I know," he tells her. "It's okay. I got you a refresh, and a cookie, to share." He emphasizes the word share, teasing her, knowing her admitted gluttony for pastries.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Don't tease," she tells him. "I'm on a sugar high, already." She looks at the cookie forlornly and shakes her head. "I don't think I should have more."

Robert grins conspiratorially at her. "Well, look at it this way. I'm eating half of it, so you'll be adding only half a sugar high to what's already there…and what good is a half sugar high?"

It doesn't make sense, not really, but it does get a chuckle out of her, and she shakes her head, before sighing in faux resignation.

"True enough," she says a she cuts the cookie in half and takes a bite, leaving the other half for him. She swallows down the delectable chocolate mint goodness with a generous gulp of her coffee before speaking again. "How's Mary?"

Robert sighs internally. It's easy to ignore the gnawing feeling at the edges of his heart and soul and tell himself it's nothing but admiration he feels for the girl, for she is beautiful and smart and she fascinates him, but the way she cares, even for a child that she's not even met yet…that endears her to him even further and it's hard for him to dismiss the myriad of feelings he has for her. Not that he wants to analyze any of these stupid feelings really.

"She's alright," he tells her, shaking his head. "Her favourite word still seems to be no, and she does say it on a daily." He smiles ruefully, and then revels on the chuckle that comes from her lips. "But she's doing good-growing at a steady pace." He looks at her thoughtfully. "And your roommate?"

She had told him about her roommate, Phyllis something, who has been having a bit of trouble with Carson's class because of Carson's assistant teacher—Barrow—who has been giving her quite a hard time.

"She's fine, too," she tells him with a shrug. "I think she's talked to Mr. Barrow, and they've come to some sort of agreement."

It's a bit vague, her answer, but then the circumstances revolving that had been a tad bit vague to him too, so he just nods in acknowledgment, adds in a good to hear, for good measure.

"And how are you?" he asks her then, because honestly, he's more interested in her.

She sighs, a tell tale sign that she's having a banner day, and he shakes his head.

"It's just been a long day," she assures him, but he knows she's having difficulties with Isobel's class. She'd told him that she believes the woman's ideologies taint her lessons, which is hard considering she's teaching Sociology and should know better than to mix her own opinions on what she teaches. Not that she can't share it, Robert thinks, but Isobel does have a tendency to insist on being right, even when proven wrong.

He smiles at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear," he tells her sincerely, because he really is. He knows there's more to it than just that, can see it in her eyes, but he doesn't want to push if she's not ready to speak. Though he does want to cheer her up a bit. "You know, I know a place that serves the best fish and chips that can turn your bad day into a good one."

He's said the words before he can think about it, and damn, it's stupid, really, so fucking stupid. But the words are out now, he's said them and cannot take them back, lest he finds a way to somehow un-say them, or pick them up and shove them back in his mouth.

He sees her eyes widen, the insinuation is clear in what he'd said, no matter what the wording, and she looks like she's contemplating how bad an idea this is.

It is a bad idea, of course it fucking is…inviting a student to dinner-a student that he has, more than just a handful of times, admitted he has some sort of weird, ambiguously romantic feelings for, someone who's out of his reach, and someone he should not, definitely not, be inviting to dinner to.

But what the heck, he's already said it.

Should he take it back?

Nah, he realizes that he doesn't want to anyway.

"I uh," she stammers, and he knows for sure that she's going to say no, that she'll tell him that he's crossed the line, and that it had been nice to have these little chats, but he's nothing but an old lecher, and she's disgusted with him...oh well, he's brought this on himself. "Yeah, sure."

And oh—well—that's a right surprise.

"Yes?" he asks almost incredulously.

She bites down on her lip and looks at him with apprehension and hesitation written clearly on his face.

"Unless you don't want to…because I know people will think it's inappropriate…and to tell you the truth I'm not entirely sure it isn't…but we are friends, and I figured friends do lunch and dinners…and like…I'm sorry. Forget I said it."

He grins at her though and shakes his head. "Don't apologize," he says. "Of course I still want to go… We _are_ friends. I could be your professor and your friend, there's nothing wrong with that."

She looks doubtful, and even he, _himself_ , isn't all that convinced…but whatever.

"Well, okay," she finally says before gathering her stuff and placing them inside her bag. "We probably should leave now and go there so that you can come home to Mary earlier."

And that's exactly why Robert has weird, stupid, unnameable feelings for this girl…this right here.

"Shall we then, my lady?" he asks, standing up and offering a hand to her, which makes her chuckle and shake her head, but she doesn't take his hand.

Disappointed as he is, he knows it's for the best.

"Let's go, C-Dawg," she teases instead, which makes him groan. He likes her spunk though, likes it a lot in fact.

It's almost dangerous. Actually, no, it _is_ dangerous.

And maybe it's stupid and it's weak to feel this way, to thread in the unknown knowing there innumerable landmines with every step…but damn it, being with her, like this, even just like this, feels too good.

And he wants to keep feeling this good while he still has the chance.

 **...**

She's not entirely sure she hears him right, and it takes a moment for her to register the words that just left his mouth, and an even longer moment for her to realize that they are, indeed, directed to her, and a second more for her to understand what the hell he means by asking what he just did.

He's asking her out to dinner—innocent, yep, maybe, it has to be, at least, because she doesn't want to contemplate an alternative to that—to help her get over a terrible day.

It hasn't actually started that way, if she's honest.

She had woken up in good spirits, looking forward to the day as she had known that it's another day she's going to spend with Robert. They had, after all, taken into spending time at Daisy's—inadvertently, always unintentionally, meeting there after their long days. It's almost a daily occurrence, except Wednesday, when he has longer hours at the university and has to rush home to Mary and relieve the sitter, and Fridays because he doesn't have classes then.

It's been happening for about three weeks now, and honestly, Cora cannot help but fall a little more for her hot professor every day. He's attractive, that's for sure. He's also forbidden which, if Cora is honest with herself, adds to his attractiveness, though she doesn't see him as a conquest. He has become her friend over the weeks, and yes, she has a crush on him, is insanely attracted to him and his intellect, but she's not going to pursue this, knowing what it would jeopardize (even if she thought she has a chance with him, which she knows she does not, she doesn't want to get him into trouble of any kind).

So they're friends, as weird as their friendship might be to the onlookers. Yes, she's his student but there is nothing wrong with being friends with your professor, is there? They aren't crossing any lines because they both know exactly where those lines are and what would happen if they tried.

So they're just this right now: friends who confide with each other and spend time with each other.

Situation: normal.

And just because she's come to look forward to the days she'll see him, and just because there's an extra pep in her steps now, doesn't mean anything.

Of course, that all comes crashing down when she'd gone to consult with Dr. Isobel Matthews. The old bat had given them a paper to write due the following week, and Cora had presented her draft (as is instructed), but Isobel had so many opinions about it. Apparently, Cora had too, and they're too strong for a paper that Isobel had wanted her to scrap it all and rewrite.

Of course, that hadn't seated well with her, and she had gone to plead her case, which had ended up in a bit of disagreement between her and the professor, until the professor had conceded, only going so far as asking Cora to revise the paper and well, soften the _strong_ opinions where her paper had been based.

She'd been frustrated since then, and it's only gone downhill when Dr. Hughes had asked them to write a paper on the most recent contemporary piece they'd read, to be submitted on the next lecture.

That had not left her much time, and so with great frustration and even greater patience, she'd gone and written the paper while waiting for Robert at _Daisy's_. She had been to focused on her work that she had not even noticed him come in and take the seat across her until she'd put the laptop down.

They'd chatted then, and she'd told him of her grievances, and then he'd offered—in not so many words—to take her out to help her feel better. Of course, he thinks it's the fish and chips that would cheer her up, little does he know that it's being with him, being around his company that just makes the day better.

Although, she would never tell him _that._

She had agreed before either one of them could change their minds, and then off they went to the place that he claims to serve the best fish and chips.

It's a literal hole in the wall public house called _Grantham Pub_ , and it's small and dank but clean on the outside, and clean on the inside. He seems to know the bar tender, a boy named William and then another named Alfred. Both boys seem almost just the same age as Cora, but both greet Robert with a toothy smile and casual ' _Hey Doc'_.

Robert jokes with both and tells them not to call him that, in case someone chokes (knock on wood) and expects him to save their lives, which he won't know how to do. It ears him a laugh from the boys, and an eye roll from her, although she does find it very difficult to fight the grin that threatens to erupt from her lips.

He's adorable, disarmingly so, and she wishes for once that the circumstances are different, because she would totally date him, given half the chance.

"So these fish and chips better be good," she tells him with a mock glare, as she folds her hands over the table.

He chuckles and nods, "Only the best for you, gorgeous," he says. His cheeks reddens after that comment, and she knows so does hers. That's easily categorized as flirting, there's no other way to call it. She does have half the decency not to point it out.

Maybe, if they continue to believe that there's nothing more here, then it won't have to be more, they could just remain oblivious about feelings and heavy tensions, and just go on with life knowing that nothing can ever be—and there's nothing to address, because how can you address something that's not there, right?

It's a flawed logic at best, but she'll take it while it still works.

Alfred comes to their table, two plates of fish and chips and two pints of beer on a tray in hand. He smiles at both of them and serves them, tells them to holler if they need anything.

Of all the places Cora has imagined Robert being in (and she has imagined him _a lot)_ , this isn't one of them. So, it's a refreshing surprise to see him so at home, and so welcomed in such a place.

"Both of them had been my students before," he tells her, in a way answering the lingering but unspoken question in her mind. "But both dropped out, on separate occasions of course. They ended up working here, and when I walked in here one day, because I needed a pint after a long, dreadful day, both were here. It's a small world."

He smiles at her, and she melts.

She nods her head slowly, belaying the puddle of goo that she's become deep inside. "It is," she agrees before digging and sampling the fish and chips he says would drive her bad day away. Although he does that well enough on his own, the fish and chips do help. She can't help the moan that escapes her lips once the flavours hit her senses. "Oh, fuck, you're right, these are good."

He grins cheekily at her, though there is something odd about the way he looks. She chooses not to question it though, afraid of what he'll say.

"Told you," is all he comments, before he digs in himself.

They spend the next few hours talking about the most random, safest topics. It's still fun, any time she spends with Robert _is_ fun, and she almost wishes it won't end. But end it does, though, because he has a kid to get home to, and she has homework to finish.

They fight over the bill, but Robert wins, tugging it from her arms and then keeping it out of her reach until it's safe in Alfred's hands. He then smirks at her in a smug way that makes her want to kiss it off—but _oops_ , she tells herself, _wrong thought._

When everything is settled, Robert helps her out of the chair and holds her coat for her while she shrugs it on. They walk out of Grantham's pub, but not before Alfred and William asks Robert to come back soon. He nods, tells them he will, and then they are out.

It's cold out and the brisk air hits Cora's face sharply, making her realize that the weather is definitely turning and _whoopee_ , she has another year of grey and wet winter to look forward to.

How lovely.

"Everything alright?" he asks her as he watches her rub her hands up and down her arms to stave off the cold.

She nods at him and tries to smile. "Yep, everything's fine," she says, breathing in deeply and then shivering for her efforts. "I was just thinking about another year of English winter I have to tackle." She rolls her eyes in disdain.

She's used to the cold, she is, she's been born and raised in New York, after all, but it's the dampness that she hates.

"It'll get better," he tells her in an effort to bolster her spirits, though it runs dry on her, because nope, she has been here for almost three years and it has _not_ gotten better.

She looks at him drily. "Has it gotten better for you?" she asks.

He chuckles and shakes her head no, making her roll her eyes again.

They walk down the path back to campus once more, but they do it in comfortable silence. She wonders why she's so comfortable with him, everything else considering, but comes up with no reason other than he makes it easy. He is kind and charming, and though this relationship or friendship or whatever it is, isn't exactly ideal, it's not something she regrets.

In fact, she's grateful for it.

As all roads, they reach the end, and it's a bit too soon when they reach the block where her apartment is. He looks at her then, all seriousness but with warmth, and Cora isn't entirely sure what to feel or say, all she knows is that right now, her heart is racing erratically in her chest, and she can barely breathe as she drowns in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Robert?" she whispers softly, and she doesn't know what it is, or how she's not noticed it, but he's such a beautiful specimen of a man, so _gorgeous_ under the silver glow of the pale moonlight, and lord, she wishes he would kiss her, he looks like he will, but god, that's wrong.

Fuck it though, she wants to feel his lips on hers.

"Cora," he rasps back, and he looks so tense, so stiff, like he's physically and mentally holding himself back from doing something he might regret, and perhaps he's also thinking about kissing her, or perhaps it's other things, but she doesn't give him the chance to tell him when she reaches up and presses her lips to his softly.

She never makes the first move, _never_ , but god, if this is how it feels like—and right now, it feels so fucking wonderful, words are literally not enough to describe it—then she doesn't mind it at all. His hot breath hits her skin and makes it tingle, makes her shiver pleasantly as his hand finds the small of her back and pulls her closer to him.

Is she dead?

Is this heaven?

If it's not, then it definitely feels like it.

But her small piece of heaven is ripped out from her as soon as it is given when he pulls away and tears his mouth away. His hand falls from her back, and Cora feels her heart fall to her stomach, feels emptiness settle where it once had been, and she sighs, closes her eyes to not have to see the look on _his_.

"I'm so sorry," he manages to stammer out, but as well intentioned as those words are, they break her heart and rip her heart apart and she breathes in, deeply, breathes out loudly, trying to calm herself down.

She opens her eyes and looks at a point behind him, tries not to look directly at _him_ , because fuck this hurts.

"You've nothing to apologize for," she tells him, and it's true, she's the one who kissed him, she tells him so. "I should be the one apologizing."

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, so he closes it. She wants to say something smart, something that's going to hopefully change his mind about his obvious apprehension with this, over what happened, but she finds that she has nothing smart to say, or at all, and so she remains silent.

"I...I'm sorry, Cora," he tells her, and then he shots off, runs away, taking Cora's heart with him.

She should stop him, demand that they talk it out. Hell, she should demand that he give her heart back because it hasn't been his to take in the first place. But she knows, as well as he, that it has _always_ been his to take, from the first time they'd laid eyes on each other. So, as much as she wants to, she doesn't stop him, watches him run off into the night with her heart in his hands.

She watches him go, watches him leave with the one thing she hadn't wanted to give him but something he's already owned at first glance.

* * *

Let me know if I should continue! Also Zaibinda, you can rest now! ❤


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Things have shifted. It isn't like she isn't expecting it to. After Robert had kissed her and bolted, which she tries very hard to understand and rationalize, she's expected some things to change. For one, she knows he'll be weird around her, however _weird_ is an understatement for what he is like when around her. He downright ignores her in class, and outside, she barely sees him and in the off chance that they meet around the campus or pass each other by in the hall, he fidgets and then refuses to acknowledge her. She's not so much put off by this, it's to be expected, but she can't really say that it doesn't sting.

He doesn't even go to the café anymore, maybe afraid that she'll be there and they'd have to interact. One time he'd walked in, she'd been sitting at the same spot, typing away at her laptop for the paper she needs to submit for Hughes' class, and then when he'd spotted her, he actually turned around and walked out of there as if seeing her would cause him to be sick.

That one had stung her right and proper.

She expects it, really she does. It's been a mistake, on her part, to have let things go as far as they have. As she's always known, she's stupid and weak where he's concerned, and she hates herself for it. She doesn't regret it, good god, she _cannot_ regret it. Deep down inside, she knows she's wanted that to happen, had wanted him to kiss her, had wanted more if she's honest. She knows, though, it's wrong, that they cannot. No matter how attracted they are to each other, there are just things that cannot be, and this—whatever _this_ is—is one of them.

It doesn't make her feeling any less true. It doesn't make her feelings go away either.

Sometimes, she wishes she'd never known him, but then that seems like a tragedy of its own, and she cannot really a fathom a life where he's not in it, no matter how painful it is now for her. She settles, instead for the wish that things aren't so complicated—but that's wishing for the stars, and that's just futile.

…

He tries to ignore her.

 _Tries,_ being the operational word, because it's very difficult to ignore the woman who is always on his mind. It's such a stupid thing, too, because she is _everywhere_. He sees her, even when it's obvious that she's trying very hard to appear invisible to him. He knows what she's doing—trying to give him space because she's ashamed of what's happened, or maybe not ashamed, but it's clear now to the both of them that whatever's happened between them is wrong. It's not just the kiss—though that's very wrong on his part, too (but good, really fucking good he still has dreams about it and it's been weeks since then), it's _everything_.

It is the feeling that he feels for her that he really, _really_ should _not_ be feeling. It's the fact that he cannot get her out of his mind, that he's so crazy about her even if he barely knows her. Everything he knows about her, though, he likes, _loves,_ and she drives him crazy without even her trying. She makes his day just by breathing, and every time she smiles—his day, his _world_ , brightens, and fuck, that sounds so cliché, but it is the truth.

He is a man of literature and a man of words, a scholar if he may, but he all the accolades and the achievement he's ever had are rendered useless and means nothing when thinks of a way to describe her and his feelings for her. He simply cannot put into words how she makes him feel.

Wonderful is close, but still sounds so paltry for everything that she does to him.

But….

No matter how wonderful, how good she makes him feel, and no matter how precious she is to him, and how much he might want to explore whatever this is that is between them, he knows they cannot. He knows that the kiss, and everything else for that matter, is wrong.

He doesn't regret it, cannot regret that small kiss. He should, he knows that, but he finds that no matter how wrong, that moment had set fire into him, creating a fire burning inside him that cannot be extinguished. At that moment, with his lips pressing against hers, no matter how brief, for that meagre five seconds, he'd been alive, more alive than he's been in a while. And apart from Mary's birth, he'd never had a moment so heavenly.

It's wrong. He knows that. But why does it feel so, _so_ right?

If it is wrong, then why does loving her feel right?

 **…**

"You okay, Cora?" Phyllis asks her as she enters their apartment, two bags of take out in hand. Her eyebrows are raised, and her lips drawn into a frown.

Cora, who had been sitting on the chaise for the better part of the day, staring into space instead of studying for the weekend like she had planned, startles and looks up at her roommate with wide eyes. She sighs, pushing away the book that's been resting on her lap for more than an hour now, but she hasn't even started yet. She bites down on her lip, deciding what she should and could tell her roommate before deciding infinitely that she doesn't really want to say anything after all, and then nods. "Yeah," she says, though she doesn't sound as convincing as she would like, even to herself. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She sits up properly and stands, walks over to where her roommate is currently plating their food. Their apartment isn't all that huge (she prefers it this way—to belong and blend in, instead of living in an apartment her mother might suggest or like better—something bigger and more spacious, and quite honestly isolated), and it takes her only a few steps to get from her seat on the couch to their kitchen—well, _kitchenette,_ okay, well glorified _nook_.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" Phyllis, or Phil, asks her, and she ponders. She _does_ want to talk about it, she won't lie. It's just that she doesn't know how much of it she _can_ talk about without breaking down completely.

How it's gotten from a first meeting to a few coffee dates to a mess real quick, she will probably never know. All she knows is that she's fallen, quite quickly and quite completely and she knows that she's in deep trouble because the pain in her chest radiates through her being.

Cora shrugs and then leans against one of the chairs, her hands clasping the backrest, and then tries to regroup her thoughts. She knows that if there is anyone she can talk to about it, it's Phil, she's the one who knows most about what's going on anyway, but she just doesn't know where to start.

Phyllis, however, knows exactly where. "It's about Dr. Crawley, isn't it?" she asks.

It's a no-brainer, of bloody course, it's about Robert. Who else?

Cora nods without a word, and for a while they are both silent, both of them reaching for plates and the cartons of food and fixing their dinner. It's quiet after that as they consume dinner without talking about it. Later, when the wine is broken out and they're lounging in their living area and Cora is staring into space while Phil is working on her essay, Cora finds her words and starts to speak.

"I…I have feelings for him," is what she starts with, and it's not where she wants to go right away, but that's what's come out. Phyllis is quiet and is looking at her with a neutral expression. "I don't know how or when, I just know that I…I have feelings for him that's more than just a crush."

"I see," is all that Phyllis says. "So what's wrong?"

Cora wants to laugh at that. What's wrong? More like, what's right? Nothing is right, everything is wrong.

"He's my teacher!" Cora all but screams as she throws her arms up in the air in defeat. Isn't that the bigger problem here?

Phyllis raises an eyebrow and her lips thin into a line. "Does that mean he feels the same way?" she asks, and _of course_ , there is _that_.

Cora goes blank. Of course she's thought about that, and sure she's asked herself over and over about it, asked herself if she's just projecting what she feels for him, or if it's real. A hundred different answers come to mind every time, and she changes her mind every five seconds about that.

She does _not_ know, is all that she can offer to herself, and now to Phyllis who looks at her after that proclamation.

"But he has kissed me?" Cora supplies, breaking under the intense, knowing stare Phil is levelling her with. She expects…well she doesn't know what she expects in terms of her friend's reaction to this, but well, this is not _it._

Phyllis makes a noise…of understanding or disapproval, Cora isn't sure, so she remains quiet and waits out her friend. "When did it happen?" she asks.

Cora shrugs. "A few weeks ago?" she supplies, not coming out with the correct answer, which is _3 weeks and four days_ —not that she _is_ counting. She looks at her roommate for any trace of judgment, but her face remains blank. She remains quiet, too, which brings Cora to the edge, the anxiety is eating at her.

The silence between them stretches and stretches and Cora is forced to swallow down her wave of anxiety with a long sip of her wine.

"Well, say something," she urges, finally, when the quiet is too much to bear and she bites down on her lip to stop herself from having that emotional breakdown that she's been tethering on the edge of lately.

Phil's eyes widen, and she looks startled for a moment before she shakes her head. "What do you want me to say?" she asks with a sigh, and at Cora's vehement ' _anything!'_ she closes her eyes for a long moment and breathes deeply. "I don't really know what to say to you. I told you so comes at the top of my mind but that's hardly what you need right now."

Cora bites down on her lip again, worrying it, gnawing at it, until it's raw and she has to stop to not bruise herself. She looks at her roommate in shame and regret, and she's right, rubbing the salt in Cora's wounds might not be the best track. She's already told herself everything her roommate can come up with.

Stupid.

Weak.

Idiot.

Hare-brained hopeless romantic.

 _Stupid_.

She's thought of it all.

"What do you want to do?" Phil asks her, then, halting her train of thoughts, and making her look up so fast she'd have gotten whiplash. Phyllis is looking at her, staring at her, on the verge of making her comfortable, but then again she's already so uncomfortable and anxious about everything. She twitches and fiddles with her thumb.

"I don't know," she says, and that is not technically a lie because she knows exactly what she _wants_ to do, she's just not sure she _should_ do it, or that it is the right course. It's definitely more _ideal_ rather than realistic. "I mean, I know what we _can't_ do…nothing good can come out of this. He's my teacher. I can't…I can't fall in love with him." She sighs as she pushes back the tears and swallows the lump in her throat.

Why is life so unfair?

"But you are?" Phyllis asks, and it's a question that she's asked herself a thousand times, with the answer that she's denied herself a thousand more. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

But maybe, now, right here, with her heart—the pieces and what is left of it—right at her lap, she thinks she might finally have the courage to say it aloud, to admit to herself what she's never the courage to. She looks up at her roommate as a tear finally slips down her cheeks.

"Yes," is all she can say, and where it should be freeing to finally say it aloud, where it should heal her and make her whole, she feels her heart grow and then break inside her chest even more.

The sad thing is, she's the only who knows it.

 **…**

As far as moving on goes, Cora Levinson knows how bad she's fairing. She's trying, lord knows how hard she is trying, but it's hard. It's hard to see him in front of the class, pointedly ignoring her and pretending that nothing happened. Sure, that's the professional way to go, but why can't he even acknowledge her outside of class? Why can't he talk to her and tell her, "hey, I'm sorry for what happened"…anything, anything to make her feel more like she'd meant something to him, no matter how brief their tryst had been, to make her feel less like the kiss, that _she_ , means _nothing_ to him.

A traitorous voice inside her tells her that it's true. The kiss, _she_ , means nothing to him, that's she is just another person in a sea of faces, but she finds it hard to believe. Despite everything, despite the pain she feels and that every singular moment her heart is shred to pieces at the mere thought of him, she knows it's meant _something_. He doesn't seem like the type who would just use someone like _that_. She knows he finds it difficult to open up, that he's been burned before and doesn't want to go through that again and so he is guarding his heart, she also knows there's more at stake for him than for her, after all there's Mary to think about, and that makes it okay, she understands, she knows why he's more hesitant, reluctant, resistant even to taking that plunge and exploring this _feeling_ between them. It just doesn't mean it hurts any less.

And it hurts, _fuck_ , it hurts, and she thinks it always will, but she tries to live day by day, with one breath at a time. Heartbreaks are never easy, and when it's like this—fast and all at once, it's kind of like jumping down a hole, expecting land on something cushy, expecting for the hole to be deeper, except it's not, it's shallow, the end is near and hard, and the fall breaks you more.

The hard thing is nothing helps, not time alone, not time with friends. She lives in a space where her heartache is consistent and her constant shadow, and though she loathes to live in self-pity, that seems to be the only way right now. Even her roommate had had enough of her moping around and had asked her very politely to get the hell out of the house and try to walk it off, saying that the air might do her good. It doesn't, of course it bloody well doesn't, but the coldness makes her skin and face numb, and for a while she basks in the numbness, no matter how physical it is and her pain runs deep.

Simply going on a walk for retrospection is not going to cut it, but it does pass time, anyway, and so she goes, every day when she has the time, she walks along the streets of Grantham, mindlessly and aimlessly. Sometimes she makes it three blocks before she finds herself having arrived in either Grantham Arms or at Daisy's, and then the tears would fill her eyes and she walks away, heart breaking in million pieces.

Sometimes, she ends up in the park. Those are the days she likes best, when her mind and her feet take her away from the places that remind her of him. She takes a seat on one of the benches and takes her time, sits there for long hours until she's cold and shivering, nothing short of a frost bite being able to drag her away. She watches the sun set most of the time, tries to bask in it and remind herself that no matter how many things or people disappoint her, or how many times she cries silently for a love that never is or was, the sun would always set and that's something she can count on. It buoys her, reminds her that another day is coming, and though it means another day of pain and heartache, it also means she's one step closer to healing. After all, time does heal all wounds, and as long as time keeps on turning, the clocks keep ticking, and the sun keeps setting and rising, there's always _hope._

And though she really struggles to believe that now, when her heart seems to break in so many tiny little pieces over and over again, she still tries, tries very hard to see the silver lining.

It is what she's doing now, finding the silver lining, as she finds herself once again sat on a bench at the park. It's cold and she's trembling, but the icy wind blowing against her face tethers her to the present and keeps her from wallowing even deeper in to her pain.

She sighs as she holds on to her cup, which has become more of a hand warmer than an actual drink she enjoys, and she tries to focus on the beauty before her, tries not to focus on the pain that makes her chest throb.

"Are you Snow White?" she hears someone ask, and she startles, looks to her right to find a little girl no more than three standing next to her bench, hands against the seat and peering up at her with her deep brown eyes. She looks curious and excited at the same time, and Cora chuckles softly, shaking her head.

"No," she tells the child gently, reaching out to touch her hair and pat her on her head. "No, I'm not Snow White." Cora smiles at the child softly.

The child frowns and crosses her arms against her chest. Cora thinks she looks oddly reminiscent of someone she knows, though she cannot place who.

"Is that why you're sad?" the little girl asks. She sighs dramatically as she climbs up the bench. Cora reaches out to help her but she shakes her head and waves Cora off. "Because I really want to be Belle, and my papa says I can be _a_ princess, but _not_ Princess Belle, and that makes me sad, too."

Cora wants to laugh out loud, though she tries to stifle it for the kid's benefit. She shakes her head. "Yeah, I guess that makes me sad," she answers as seriously as she can. She even shakes her head for effect. "I bet it would be nice to be a Disney Princess."

The child's eyes widens and she gasps. "That's what I think too!" she says. She looks at Cora curiously for a while before her hand flies up to her mouth.

Concerned, Cora looks her over for any signs of distress or physical damage. "What's wrong sweetie?!" she asks, almost frantically.

The little girl shakes her head, before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, "My papa said I shouldn't talk to strangers!" she says in alarm and such worry that Cora almost laughs. But she knows how real that problem is, and she shakes her head.

"Yes. That is true," she agrees, nodding seriously. She then extends a hand to the kid and smiles. "My name is Cora. What's your name?"

The little girl beams. "My name is Mary," she says and there's a split second that Cora's mind drifts to Robert's Mary, but she tries to push that thought off her mind. It can't be. Coincidences hardly grow on trees waiting for people to walk on them.

"That's a beautiful name, sweetheart," Cora praises, fighting easily to keep the smile on her face. Robert's Mary or not, this child is adorable, and it's hard not to notice that. "And you're such a beautiful girl." And then, remembering herself, she turns her head right and left, back and forth, searching. She faces the child and tries not to worry. "You're not here alone, are you, sweetie?"

Mary shakes her head. "No," she tells Cora solemnly. "I am here with my nanny, but she was busy…so I left her."

"Busy?" Cora asks incredulously. The only way that nanny should be busy is by taking care of Mary. "With what?"

She really shouldn't be interrogating the kid like this, should she?

Mary frowns as her eyes drop and she avoids Cora's eyes. Cora fights the urge to turn the girl's chin up and make her look at her. It is really not her place, so she waits out for Mary to say something instead.

"It's okay, honey, you can tell me if you want to," Cora whispers, trying to put the child at ease as much as she can. She isn't going to force it, by all intents and purposes she _is_ a stranger to Mary, but she _does_ want to know, because Mary is very young, barely even five and she's been wandering the park alone it seems.

"But she…she said not to tell anyone," Mary responds softly, her voice little and low, and Cora recognizes fear in the way she positions her body. Her little fingers start to fiddle, and her frown deepens—to Cora's growing concern.

"I promise I won't tell anyone, my darling," she promises, raising her hand and holding out her pinkie to the child whose eyes light up a bit. "Promise." It delights Cora to no end when Mary lifts her own finger and makes her own pinkie promise.

"She takes me to park so she can talk to Mr. Branson," Mary divulges and for a second, Cora is shocked. Shock gives way to rage, as she understands the situation. Mary's nanny drags the child into the cold to flirt?! "She says not to walk far or tell Papa because Papa might not like us going out often." Cora frowns, and Mary's face sets pretty much the same way. "I think she just doesn't want Papa to know that she's talking to Mr. Branson."

"And this…this Mr. Branson, who is this man?" Cora asks, ever so curious and ever so enraged.

Mary shrugs. "I don't know him, not really," she answers, and Cora feels herself convulse in anger. How can anyone be so careless? "I think my nanny mentioned that he drives…oh I don't know."

Cora sees the tears form in her eyes at not having to know, and Cora gathers the girl in her arms to comfort her. "Don't worry. It's okay that you don't know my dear." She brushes the errant tear that has fallen, and they sit there in silence for a while. "Are you cold?" she asks after a few minutes of silence.

Mary who is still on her lap, nods against her chest as her eyes droop. "Yes," the little girl answers. "And sleepy." The statement is punctuated by a huge yawn.

Cora nods and stands, hoisting the little girl in her arms. Mary's head falls against her shoulder, as her tiny thumb finds its way to her mouth. Cora should tell her not to do that, God knows where Mary's hands had been or what she's touched, but it seems to give the little girl some comfort, so she rummages her bag one handedly and takes out a wipe. She cleans Mary's hand with it and smiles as the child looks at her with wonder. She really should sit for this, but alas, the deed is done, and they go on their merry way.

Cora is resolute to find this Nanny, and maybe give her a piece of her mind, though she remains conscious of the fact that it is not her place, as Mary continues to suck on her thumb and play with the ends of her hair.

"Hey darling?" she murmurs softly, and the little girl lifts her head sleepily, only fractionally, her eyes unfocused and bleary. "What does your nanny look like?"

Mary, for her part, attempts a half shrug, her attention now drawn to the clip that Cora had been wearing—an angel one with stud gifted to her by her own mother. It's fancy, but it's also one of the nicest ones her mother has given her and she likes it a lot—she understands Mary's fascination to it. But she _does_ need to know what this nanny looks like to be able to find her.

So, Cora tries again.

"Come on, baby, we'll get you to bed sooner," she prompts, to which the little girl finally gives her enough attention to help.

Mary lifts her head a bit more and then looks around, still sleepily but at least a little bit more focused now. She has a very serious face on that Cora tries and barely succeeds not to chuckle at. She's such an adorable child.

"There," Mary exclaims, then, catching her attention. Cora follows where Mary's finger is pointing, easily spotting a small blonde sitting with a man. The man seems to be engrossed in his book, but the woman seems to be trying to get his attention.

If it isn't so very hypocritical of her, Cora would've rolled her eyes.

"Is that her?" Cora asks the little girl and she responds in kind, nodding in the affirmative, rather vigorously. "Very good, thank you Mary." And then, Cora stalks off to the woman angrily. When she reaches the nanny (who is sitting on the bench rather comfortably, without a care and seemingly unaware that she's lost her ward at this point), Cora barely manages to suppress her anger. "I have something that you should be taking care of," she scolds the nanny who looks up at her, startled.

"Wha-?" the woman is even barely able to finish her sentence as her eyes land on Mary, comfortably perched on Cora's hip, looking at her with as much disdain a child her age could muster. It's clear as day that Mary doesn't like her nanny much, and Cora could honestly say she feels the same.

For his part, the man sitting with this insipid blonde remains quiet and observing. Cora wishes he'd fuck off to Mars, but then she knows he might be an innocent bystander in all of this as much as she is _supposed_ to be.

She hands Mary off to the nanny (who begins fussing and protesting at the idea of being torn from Cora's side—Cora can relate), and shakes her head.

"Next time, if you can't take care of your ward, don't bring her to the park," she adds, wanting to say more but holding her tongue. She's not here to judge the woman's character, but more like judge the nanny's ability to take care of the girl.

Having said what she has to, and knowing she won't be held accountable for what she would say next if she doesn't walk away now, she turns to Mary who is sobbing, pleading with her not to go.

"But I have to go now, my darling, you'll be okay here," she says, though she doubts the veracity of that statement. Mary continues to cry, the nanny looks on confused as ever, the Mr. Branson (or at least Cora assumes he is) observes silently, and Cora is fuming and heartbroken at the same time. She smiles sadly. "Maybe next time you'll see me here again, huh?"

Highly likely, if you ask her.

"But what if I don't?" Mary asks, crying.

Cora reaches up and brushes the tears from the little girl's eyes, and kisses her forehead softly, pulling her into a warm embrace, and holding on tightly. Maybe it's just her, maybe she's stupid, maybe she's a fool, but she's attached to this sweet little girl and it's hard not to feel emotional over this goodbye.

She knows it's only been hours, and maybe she's just in a state where everything seems poignant and raw, but this does hurt.

"Of course you will," Cora replies. "I'll be here sometimes, and maybe you can ask your nanny or your parents to bring you around here…and maybe your nanny can look after you then, yeah?" She throws a pointed look at said Nanny who at least has the decency to look away, embarrassed.

Mary is having none of her assurances though as she throws her arms around Cora's neck, sobbing. "No," she wails, shaking her head.

Cora gathers the little girl in her arms and holds her close, rubbing her back tenderly as she whispers softly against the child's hair. "It's okay, little one, don't cry." And then, getting an idea, she reaches up to her hair and unclips her angel pin. She pulls away slightly and hands it over to the crying Mary who's looking at her through wet, curious eyes. "Here, you can have this."

Mary looks at excitedly and hesitantly at the same time, and Cora encourages her with a soft smile.

"You can have it, sweetheart," she urges, placing the little pin in Mary's little palm. "So you'll always remember me, okay? And even if you can't see me, you'll always know that I'm looking over you."

Mary looks at her timidly and with trepidation. "Like a guardian angel?" she asks shyly.

Cora erases the doubts with a smile and nod, "Always," she promises, and chuckles wetly when Mary throws herself to her arms, hugging her tightly.

When Cora leaves the park, she feels as though she's broken her heart all over again, but somehow, in some way, she's found a way to mend it, too.

 **…**

Robert could feel the exhaustion seeping through his bones as he pushes the door open and slides inside his house with practiced ease, his keys thrown immediately in the bowl on the side table, his feet pushing against the other to take his shoes off. His eyes scan the surroundings and finds all sorts of disarray, as Mary's toys lay haphazardly around the living area, his laundry folded neatly inside his hamper seated on the couch (he lets the laundry maid leave his things on the sofa and takes it up to his bedroom himself), and breathes out a tired sigh.

It is a blessing and his greatest source of pride and joy to be a father, but sometimes, it's too exhausting to be. He loves Mary to his very core, but she can be quite a handful, and given his current situation (the _Cora_ situation anyway, one he refuses to acknowledge but is always at the forefront of his mind no matter how hard he tries not to let it be), he already has way too much on his hands.

He tries to block the memories that come flooding in at the mere mention or thought of Cora, but the kiss they'd shared keeps playing in his mind over and over again, like some broken but exquisitely beautiful record. He longs to press his lips against hers once more, to hold her in his arms and never let her go, but he knows how stupid and foolish those notions are. He's not a teenager that he cannot control his feelings, but it's very, very difficult when they are of this intensity. Sometimes, he feels like he's drowning in her, and she's barely even there to begin with.

With a grunt, he plops down the couch and closes his eyes as he lolls his head back. These thoughts had been consuming him lately, and he feels guilty, incredibly so. How can he be thinking of his _student_ in such a way?

He reminds himself that Cora is much more than a student, to him she's his friend…apparently a friend he's extremely attracted to, but a friend nonetheless. He's opened himself up to her in a way that he's never really had with anyone after…well, after his late wife. He'd been so careful to guard himself, to keep his feelings of softness and affection only for his daughter. He's been successful before Cora had come into his life. Quite successful, actually, but not it's hard to remember how and why.

He knows there's no answer to that conundrum, though, so he forces himself to let it go, to let _her_ go (she deserves better than to be with a man who's as fucked up as him, with a kid to boot, when she's so young and so able to experience more from life without the baggage he carries).

He also physically forces himself to stand from the very comfortable couch and make the trek upstairs, his laundry in his arms, before he falls asleep in there. He goes straight to Mary's room, first, checks that his daughter is sound asleep, sparing a quick glance to the bedroom next door where the nanny stays.

Knowing he would be late quite often, he's hired a full time, live in nanny, though he wonders constantly at this particular one. She seems to be so disinterested and Mary seems to cling to him more and more, as though unhappy to be left alone with her nanny. He usually chalks that up to Mary really just wanting to spend time with him, which for the most part he knows to be true, but lately, he's began to wonder.

Maybe he'll address it in the morning? Soon, anyway.

Softly, he opens the door to his daughter's room, fighting to remain quiet as he sees his little girl ensconced in the covers, sleeping soundly. The rhythmic rising and falling of her chest brings him great comfort, and he smiles as her princess themed nightlight she's begged him to buy illuminates the dark room and shines against his angel's sleeping form, hitting porcelain skill and dark hair.

His eyes roam around the room, mechanically checking for anything that goes bump in the night, when something shiny catches his eyes. Curiously, he settles his hamper on the floor and makes his way inside the room. Finding the shiny object immediately on his daughter's bedside, he picks it up and checks it, turning it over and over.

It's a hair pin, studded in fancy, shiny diamonds shaped like an angel. It's beautiful and he understands exactly how and why Mary should be fascinated by it.

It looks familiar, and he feels as though he might have seen it somewhere before. He closes his palm over it, feeling the ridged texture on his skin as he closes his eyes and thinks. He wonders if it's familiar because it's his daughter's, but he does not quite remember buying it before.

To be honest, he doesn't quite remember buying such a fancy clip or hair pin or whatever it's called for Mary. Suddenly and out of nowhere, memories of a blue-eyed, dark haired woman sitting across him at Daisy's crosses his mind's eye, and there in vivid imagery, he sees the shiny object in question, clipped against her dark hair.

 _Cora._

It's Cora's.

But now the question is, how did Mary come to possess it?

He couldn't think of any scenario that it should come to be, but he's going to get to the bottom of it. Even if it means having to face Cora again.

(Silently, he quells the hope and thrills he feels blooming in his chest over the prospect of seeing her again and talking to her once more, and admonishes himself over it, but he knows he's stupid and weak when it comes to her, and though he tries to chastise himself, he knows the excitement won't go away).

 _ **A/n: i dont even know anymore. Let me know what you think ❤**_


	4. Chapter 4

Surprise!Now, don't get used to this but I was feeling inspired. I didn't realize how much of my recent experience I was pouring into this until I wrote this chapter. It also happens to be the one I like the most. It speaks to me in ways that anything I have written lately or maybe even ever has not. So anyway, I ship Cora/Phyllis as a brotp which is pretty evident.

On with the story

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

It feels as though there is hollowness where her heart is supposed to be.

She hears the rhythmic thumping, if she presses her hand against her ear and closes her eyes—she hears the pulse that signifies the life she's still living, the air that flows inside her lungs and the blood that rushes through her veins. She hears every sigh and breath she takes and lets go, but there is hollowness, a poignant emptiness inside of her.

Maybe it's a bit much, a bit too melancholic, a bit too melodramatic, to be feeling like this over something that isn't even there. She is essentially mourning a relationship that never is, a love that's never really truly blossomed, but of all the things that make a feeling validated, the label in which they'd forgone to give to what they'd had isn't one of them.

She feels the ache inside her—so real, too big for her to comprehend right now—and she watches as the winter comes and change the colours of the world around her from fiery red to dreadful grey. She feels the sun setting and the flurries of snow settle on the ground, leaving everything so white: a stark contrast against the dead black surrounding her view.

For everything loses its colour when eyes full of heartbreak turn to look at them.

It has been a few weeks, she tells herself, chastises herself, it's getting ridiculous now to still feel this way. But does a broken heart really have a time table to follow?

Break now, get mended in two weeks time, longer if the relationship is longer? Can the doctor prescribe a medication for the souls—bruised and battered after fighting for love?

Closing her eyes, Cora lies back on her bed and shuts the rest of the world out around her. Of course, it's just her to fall so deeply in love with a man she _should not_ fall in love with. It's him, she thinks, not just because he's the one guy he cannot have, but because he is himself—the guarded heart and the broken spirit, with a soul capable of so much love as he's demonstrated with Mary.

She's always had the penchant for the damned, as her mother has said so many times before.

She supposes now that it's true.

A soft knock against her door startles her, and she opens her eyes and sits up on the bed. "Come in," she calls out as she pulls her legs under her and crosses them.

Phil's face peeks through the small crack, not really a surprise to Cora—to say the least. It's a Saturday and it's one of those days in their Uni lives where everything seems to be calm, no deadlines to run after, no papers needing to be crammed. It's the proverbial calm before the storm, and at the moment, with all her work done for the week and the stress coming from the next few weeks well far away from her mind, she's able to just sit down and wallow in self pity. Before this whole Robert debacle, she used to spend days like this one shopping or going out and just walking around. She longs for the days she feels like her old self, and maybe one day she'll feel like that again—but not today.

"You hungry, babe?" Phyllis asks her softly as she steps inside the room and closes the door behind her. She leans against the door and looks at Cora with an openly curious expression. Cora knows how she's secluded herself even from her flatmate lately.

A broken heart is never an excuse, Cora urges herself again. So yeah, she broke her heart this time, it's not the first and it probably won't be the last and if she wants to find a way to move on, wallowing from self pity isn't the way. She's been doing so well before, with her walking in the parks and self reflection, but she'd slipped through the cracks and had gone from struggling back to square one.

She doesn't want any of that anymore.

She looks at her roommate and forces a smile through her lips—one that Phyllis would be able to tell from a mile away, but will let go because her flat mate knows how hard she's trying.

"Yeah, yes, I am hungry," she tells Phyllis who gives her a soft encouraging smile in return. "I'll go get ready then we can head out."

Phyllis's eyes widen and she looks a bit amused. "And here I thought we were going to get take out," she teases, though Cora knows how Phyllis would have let her have that if she can't go out yet. What matters most is she's making baby steps towards the right path.

"The fresh cold air might do me a bit of good," she replies, lifting one shoulder, and letting it fall—feeling the tension easing through the action. She rolls her eyes with a chuckle, adding, "As fresh as the air could be here anyway."

Phyllis chuckles along with her and nods, "I'll leave you to it then," she says and then turns around, opening the door and getting ready to slip out to let Cora get ready.

Cora calls out her name before she can leave, "Thanks Phil," she mutters sincerely, looking her flat mate straight in the eye, knowing full well she would have barely survived without her in the first place.

Phyllis has become her voice of reason and has been mothering her when she lets herself go.

She owes the other woman so much.

"You never have to thank me," Phyllis replies with a shake of her head, and Cora knows that the other woman means it.

..

The air is freezing and brisk against her skin, and it's like splashing your face with cold water after such a long, hot day. The icy breezy slices against every pore but she likes it, in some odd way, it grounds her. She smiles to herself as she loops her arm around Phyllis's.

"It feels good to be out of the house a bit," Cora admits wistfully even as she tightens her scarf around her neck with one hand. She breathes in a lungful of the cold air, lets it seep through her, and lets it out through her mouth. "I haven't realized how cooped up I have let myself become until I actually got out."

Phyllis smiles ruefully and looks at her flatmate in concern. "Are you okay, though?" she asks and there is a hint of trepidation in the way she speaks, that Cora feels justly guilty about shutting her flatmate out. Her pain is her own and how she deals with it is always up to her, but she has a great support system in Phyllis—perhaps the only friend she has who even knows what's going on anymore—and she's been unfairly treating her friend like chopped liver when she'd been there through all the hemming and the hawing, all the _are we_ or _aren't we_ between her and Robert (it turns out to be a ' _we aren't_ ' after all). "I understand that you're coping right now in a way you can, but do remember that I _am_ here for you, yeah?"

She has lucked out on the friend department, if she'd been so despairingly unlucky in the romantic one. She smiles at her friend and nods slowly. "Yes," she affirms resolutely. "I do know and I'm sorry I have been such a recluse, I couldn't understand my own feelings."

Phyllis looks at her inquisitively but doesn't say anything, only stays silent and waits for her to elaborate.

"I feel hurt," she admits, and it's not really a secret, the way she's gone on about her days and weeks leave very little if no room for doubt over that. "I feel hurt over what went down between Robert and I, and it feels...somehow, wrong, because nothing happened. We aren't together, we weren't in a relationship...we were just friends at best, and I feel like such an idiot, so stupid and so weak, to feel the way I do over it because it's nothing. There's nothing there."

Phyllis shakes her head. "It's not nothing," she says and it's with so much conviction that Cora might actually start believing that whatever she had with Robert isn't just _nothing_ , that it had been, is, _was,_ something. "And you are entitled to your feelings. You don't need a relationship to validate that." It isn't exactly something that Cora doesn't already know. "I know it seems brief, and I guess in the grand scheme of things it had been, but the length doesn't always equal the intensity, and if in that few moments you shared with him you could honestly say that you have never felt for anyone what you'd felt for him, then who is to say that what you had isn't real?"

In theory she knows that, but, "It doesn't feel real sometimes," she answers meekly, spilling what she's been afraid to say out loud all along. "What Robert and I had...it _was almost something._ Do you know what I mean? It is there but not quite. Robert and I are almost. And I'm in love with him, sure, I am, and I keep thinking is it what hurts? That I'm in love with him and he's not? Or the mere fact that I _do_ love him, regardless of what he feels for me? And I am not sure. I think..." She pauses as she tries to look for the right things to say... "I think what hurts most...in this, in love, isn't really knowing that the person you love doesn't love you back. I mean, yeah, well that hurts too, but at least you know what to expect...and that is _nothing_. He simply just doesn't love you. But _this_ , this hurts more, this almost being there—the almost part where you have no idea where exactly you both stand, or where you _, yourself,_ stand. That hurts _more._ You don't even know who or what you are to the person, and that limits what you can expect from them, if you're even allowed to expect at all." She looks up at the stars, counts one to ten and tells herself that she's cried enough for Robert and isn't crying anymore. "I don't even know if I'm allowed to feel these kinds of emotions because it's just _almost, almost a relationship, almost a love story._ It doesn't feel like I have the right to what I feel because whatever we had..."

She doesn't continue the thought, she's just going in circles.

Phyllis stops on her tracks and turns to face Cora, effectively halting Cora's as well. Her forehead creases as a frown settles on her lips.

"Whatever you had with him was, _is_ , real. It doesn't matter that you never quite put a label to it, or that you weren't more than what you were. It doesn't matter that the lines are or were blurred, the line was there. It is there and it is real, and there is nothing more real than the love you felt for him and the pain that subsequently followed it. Whatever conventions of love you have in your head...now _those_ are _not_ real, because love is not tangible and can never be convenient." Phyllis chuckles sadly. "If love was convenient, then no one would really be chasing for it, then." She squeezes her friend's hand and smiles. "You are entitled to your feelings Cora, regardless of what it is. You are entitled to your own pain. Don't let anything or anyone tell you otherwise."

Against her own wishes, a tear falls down from her eyes, wetting her cheeks, but she doesn't bother wiping it away. It feels liberating, now, to let the tears flow, and own the pain she feels, to acknowledge them as real and justified.

Now, it feels real.

 **...**

Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

It's something that Robert has always been so aware of. It is also a very real thing that is making Robert question so many things about his decisions.

He hadn't wanted to do this...not really. He doesn't want to have to confront her and cause an upheaval to the quiet that's been built in the last few months. The pain in his heart is now a quiet murmur he is able to drown with the sound of his daughter's life or the drone of the busy life he's living. And although he still actively searches for her in the lecture hall—his heart is a creature of habit, is what he's been justifying it with—he no longer feels like he is being split into two halves at just by looking at her. There's longing, slicing through his very heart and every vein, but he's learned to live with it until it feels like nothing more than a dull ache.

And it is exactly why he's really questioning himself right now. In _retrospect_ he realizes how bad this decision is, but curiosity _has_ killed the cat and he's given into his need to know. The smart move had been just to let it go and pretend it hadn't happened, after all it's been more than a few weeks since, and Mary has already had a couple of melt down over losing the angel hairpin (is still having them, had just had one before he'd left, as she'd demanded for her papa to find it because it had been given by her guardian angel and it is of utmost importance that Robert finds it, even if it had been in Robert's drawer the whole time).

He needs to know, though, and has only very recently found the courage to call for Cora to ask. If she had met his daughter then he needs to know.

He imagines it being quite a shock for her to have heard from him after months of not having done so, but this is important to him—for reasons he doesn't really even want to decipher anymore.

His thoughts are halted by the soft knocking on his office door. He knows it's her, it could not possibly be anyone else at this point, and he sucks in a deep breath, letting the air out of his mouth slowly, eyes falling close for a brief moment, before his fist tightens further around the angel hairpin he's been holding ever since he's come inside his office.

"Come in," he says in a crisp voice as he schools his face into something less anticipating, a little less eager, or god forbid, longing. He does _not_ want to spark a fire he won't be able to handle when it ignites.

The door knob turns and the door is pushed open as her pretty face peers through the small crack. She's looking confused but nothing else, and he doesn't really expect her to show any emotions beyond that, so he can't say he's surprised. He wonders if she is able to see the poignant longing he feels for her on his face. Is it obvious? Is it obvious that he wants nothing but to pull her into his arms and never let her go?

Can she tell that all he wants right now is her lips on his, and he'd be able to breathe her in, breathe all of her in until there is nothing left between them but their hearts thumping rhythmically together, beating as one as they should have been from the start?

Can she tell how much he feels for her right at this very moment, right at this very second, and how he feels that every minute of every day?

Probably not.

"You wanted to see me?" she asks him softly, breaking through his reverie. Her eyes are wide and doe like and she stands there stiffly, breaking his heart because how had they come to this? From openly flirtatious teasing to pointedly avoiding each other's eyes and tensed shoulders?

He reels his thoughts back to the present and he sighs, loud enough for him to hear but soft enough that she doesn't. He extends his hand towards her and gestures for her to take the seat in front of her desk. "Please sit down, Miss Levinson." He foolishly thinks that if he keeps this professional, his not-so-professional urges can be quelled. Foolish, he's aware.

She follows his instruction and takes the seat across his desk. She's dainty and loose-limbed, and graceful as a cat, and he cannot help the way his heart knocks in his chest at how gorgeous she is. She's beautiful, so much so, and what makes her even more beautiful is the fact that she doesn't know exactly how beautiful she is.

"Is something wrong?" she asks meekly, looking down at her lap and fiddling with her thumb. She looks so concerned that he rushes to explain.

"No, no," he reassures her with a small, stiff smile. He breathes in and out, in and out, the last one blown out in jagged breath as he bolsters himself and tries to find the courage he doesn't have currently. "Nothing's wrong, it's just that..." and then he pauses, lifts his fist and opens his palm, revealing the angel hairpin he can distinctly remember her wearing before. "Is this yours?"

He watches as her eyes widen and the colour drains from her face.

 **...**

When Cora had received a note from Robert asking her to meet him in his office, she hadn't been sure if she's hallucinating or it's real. Of course, the paper on her hand is as tangible as it could be, and she grips it quite tightly, scrunching the ones pristine piece of paper.

It's probably nothing, actually it _is_ nothing—she's sure of it, something about her marks, or the latest essay she'd turned in, maybe she's wrong about something—an opinion or an understanding of the literature and he wants her to do it again, maybe a consultation, it can be a thousand and one different things, mundane, uncomplicated things that has literally nothing to do with the whole they have feelings for each other thing.

She isn't certain she can face him, even now that it's been a month and a half since that kiss...maybe it's even a lot more than that—but the kiss is fresh in her mind like it's happened yesterday and the vivid image of his lips pressed against hers torture her already bruised heart—and so, she's not entirely sure that it's a good idea. She also is not sure what to make of it, and she's still trying to wrap her head around it as she makes her way to his office just after her class with Ms. Hughes, and every step she makes feels heavy and dragged, as though her feet are lead.

Her heart is thumping against her ribcage, and she's sure that her palms have dents on them from where she's digging her nails into the flesh. Anxious is an understatement to what she feels, and right now, she feels as though pure uninhibited terror is more an apt word to describe it.

Her heart starts trip hammering the moment the end of the hall is in sight, and she clenches and unclenches her fists a couple of times as she nears his office. She stops right at the door, standing there for a moment to just let it sink in that she _is_ about to enter his office and meet _him_. There is something to be said about him wanting to meet in his office rather than at Daisy's, but it does make a lot of sense, because he probably wants to make this as professional as it could be given the circumstances...and if she is right and they are about to talk about her grades or essay or something along those lines, then a consultation in his office during his consultation hours seems more legitimate.

Raising a fisted hand and gently knocking it against the wooden door, she holds her breath, and only lets go of it when she hears his soft ' _Come in'_. She doesn't immediately do so, however, and she stalls, bites down on her bottom lip and closes her eyes for a moment before turning the knob and opening it just a crack, peering through the gap and trying _really very_ hard not to be awkward and avoid his eyes and maybe just run as far away as she possibly can from there as though her hair has been set on fire.

He isn't saying anything much either, and he is staring at her strangely, though she doesn't really want to question _that_. She looks back at him, tries to tell herself that she's a strong woman and it takes more than this for her to buckle (she is, she knows, but somehow she is contemplating whether buckling right now seems like a better response given the circumstances), but she can't do anything more than just look and make sure none of the emotions she feels inside spill through her expressions, or worse yet, spill through the tears that make their way down her cheeks like fragments of the heart that remains broken inside her.

Does he know how much she misses him, how much she longs for his arms to be wrapped around her because she's been wondering for so long how it is exactly to be in his embrace?

Does he know that he's the water that will quench her thirst, and she's been so thirsty for so long?

Does he know that his name is the only thing in her mind, in her heart, on her lips, and he's the one...the one who's etched into her very soul, and right now, right this moment, she's experiencing a very real upheaval of every step she's made at getting better?

Does he know that she wants nothing more than him? That right now she feels more alive than she has in the last few weeks, months?

Probably not. And she won't tell him that either.

"You wanted to see me?" she asks instead, and watches as he snaps back into reality...whatever thoughts he's been having gone now.

He looks attentive and tensed, and she wonders what's going on, the tension she feels hanging in the air making her spine prickle, and she tries to stand straighter.

"Please sit down, Miss Levinson," he asks her, and he doesn't know it but her heart breaks all over again at the moniker, though logically she knows it's only right since they are within the school premises. There is a concentration and seriousness in is beautiful blue eyes that takes her aback and makes her worry more. He gestures towards the chair across the desk and gingerly, she takes the seat, the concern and alarm rising at every second that ticks by/

She frowns, eyes wide and fists tightening until her knuckles are white from the effort. "Is something wrong?" she asks and she hears the alarm in her own voice.

"No, no," he reassures her with a small, stiff smile. And she lets herself relax for a fraction, before he continues with, "Nothing's wrong, it's just that..." and then he pauses, lifts his fist and opens his palm, revealing the angel hairpin she had given to Mary. "Is this yours?"

Her eyes widen comically, and should she have been in some sort of cartoon they would have fallen from their sockets. The memories form the park a few weeks ago, of an angel child with wide brown eyes and dark hair, assault her mind, and a maelstrom of emotions rise inside her, and she's left unsure which one she's going to decipher first.

The broken puzzle pieces itself together in her brain, and she realizes how right she had been to be concerned, to think that coincidences are _not_ real, and that the universe—for all its beauty and generosity—is now conspiring against her. Apparently, she can't have one normal afternoon where the world isn't trying to push her to heartbreak.

She reaches out and takes the pin from him, igniting no response or complaints from him. She checks it over and over although she is sure that it is the very same one she'd handed the little one before. She turns it in her palm, then again, but alas, no mistakes have been made. She meets his blue eyes and she tries to register the look upon them, though she doesn't particularly want to understand what it is at the moment.

Blue meets blue, and for awhile, Cora could swear that the room becomes extremely charged, electrifying even, until, _he_ , of course, looks away.

"So is it?" he asks, lifting his eyes once more from where they'd fallen to the desk in front of him. If he is trying to make this even more awkward, then he's doing a really bang up job.

She swallows the lump on her throat and curses herself. She should really listen to her gut sometimes. "Yes, it is," she affirms as she closes her fingers over the barrette, pushing her hands to the side and making them stay there in case they become detached from her brain and do something stupid like...hold his hand. They are already itching to do so, at the moment. "And I guess it's useless to ask if the Mary from the park is the same as your Mary." She adds the last bit unnecessarily because she's really not a fan of the silence that's beginning to stretch between them.

He makes a sound that she doesn't know what to make out of...it's non committal but committal at the same time and the only response she can give is a quirk of her lips and a raise of an eyebrow.

"How'd you come to give that to her, then?" he asks her, and she sighs, because well, it almost sounds accusing to her.

"I didn't come to prey on your daughter, Robert," she tells him tersely, because she's in love with him yes, but she's not a stalker, and she is _never_ going to bring Mary into this consciously.

The universe, though, has a different opinion on that matter...obviously.

"I never said that," he says defensively, throwing his hands up for good measure, although it only takes one raise of her eyebrow for him to sigh and deflate. "I don't mean you did. I just thought...well, I don't really know what to think."

Fair enough.

"I happened to be in the park the same time she was, and she came to me, asking me if I was Snow White, and we talked for a bit, and then I handed her back to her nanny," she explains and watches as the tension on Robert's shoulder (entire demeanour if she's honest) lessens at every word. But... "Speaking of nannies, Robert..."

She then launches on an explanation of what the nanny has been doing, and though she knows it's the right thing to do, she watches with growing concern as his facial features darken and he looks like he could slice the nanny's head off her shoulder with his bare hands. She understands, she's wanted to do the same.

"I just thought you should know?" she says, posing it more as a question now than a statement, because Robert looks like a ticking time bomb getting ready to explode.

"Thanks for letting me know, Cora," he responds gruffly, and she's known Robert to be quite a bit of a boar sometimes, but she has never seen him this angry.

Not knowing how else to respond, and feeling unceremoniously dismissed, she nods, and stretches her arm to hand him the beret again. He looks up at her in confusion and shakes her head.

"Take it and give it to Mary," she urges him though he shakes his head. It angers her marginally, but she doesn't want to make a scene or just burst out in here because honestly...they are two mature adults and they should resolve things that way...maturely. "I gave it to her, Robert, not to you, so unless she explicitly said to give it back to me, then it's not up to you."

Robert sighs, sounding really aggravated. "I don't think it's a good..." he trails off.

"Idea, I know," she finishes for him, pissed as all hell right now. "Whatever you and I had or didn't have has nothing to do with what Mary and I have or had. She wanted the pin and I gave it to her, for comfort. She might not remember me a few months down the line, and I'm sure that is exactly what would happen if you will it to happen, but this is hers, a trinket that I gave her to comfort her."

She spews the words with a modicum of anger, and her nostrils flare as she tries to keep her tone at a certain level.

"Look Cora..." he begins but she doesn't let him finish. She stands up and places the angel hair pin on his desk. Let him deal with it. If he doesn't want Mary to have it, he can throw in the trash, but she's not going to take it back because she already gave it to Mary.

Maybe it's pride, maybe it's stubbornness, either way, he can have the damn pin.

She shakes her head as she makes her way to door. Her heels click against the floor, and then makes a strange noise when she turns to him.

How can he make her feel so important and so irrelevant at the same time? How is he able, with just a few words, to make her feel like what they had meant nothing? Like it hadn't been real? Like loving him had been nothing bad a idea?

Maybe it is. Sure, it is. But it's not his place to make _her_ feel _that_.

"I know it doesn't mean much to you, I guess it didn't even mean anything at all, but you meant something to me, Robert. You still do," she tells him openly, honestly, pouring her heart out now because, really, what else has she got to lose at this point? "And that's okay. I tell myself that it's okay, it has to be, because feelings...you can't force them. You either feel them or you don't. So if you never felt anything about and for me, that's fine. But know, Robert Crawley, that _you_ mean something to me." A tear falls from her eyes, and she wipes it away angrily. She's pissed, pissed at him for being such a stone cold bastard and pissed at herself for still loving him regardless. "I love you. There I said it." She watches the sheer surprise in his eyes as the words spill out (she wants to kick herself right now). "I love you, and I think I always will, and whatever we had, real or not, I felt it...in here," she points her index finger to her temple, "and here," and then to her chest, "And you can tell me that you don't, didn't, feel the same way, or that it's not been real, but it was real for me." She breathes in. "Almost might never be good enough, and I might resent _almost_ because of what it means, but it's all I had, _have."_ She breathes out. "You were the one that will never be, Robert. You're the one that got away, and that's okay. But don't you dare make me feel like what I feel for you isn't real!"

She doesn't wait for him to answer. What else can he really say anymore?

Nothing.

She turns again and makes a step forward, but his " _Cora!"_ said in a loud, full, booming voice makes her halt her steps, and slowly she turns, slowly she meets his eyes, only to find him trying to walk out of his desk.

His strides are long, strong, and purposeful, and he doesn't stop a beat or bats an eyelash as he makes his way to her. He catches her elbow in his strong, capable hands, and grabs her without prompt, pulling her into his arms, her chest falling against his. They are both breathing heavily but neither say a word.

They only meet halfway.

His lips press against hers as she presses her lips against his. Her arms wound around his neck of their own volition, because honestly she's not even thinking _at_ all right now, much less make any coordinated movements. The kiss is sensual and intimate, full of the words that they don't dare say. She feels her heart beating in tandem with his, and she doesn't what is or was or will be, but she knows she is _here,_ right here in this moment, kissing him as if her life depended on it, and for while she thinks, that yeah, maybe it _does._

* * *

 ** _A/N: let me know if you can relate to Cora in this chapter, what ur fave lines were or moments and what you want to see in the next chapters ?_**


	5. Chapter 5

HAHAHA SURPRISE AGAIN!

I AM GOING TO APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE. DONT THROW STUFF AT ME.

And I hope you guys like it. This is for my fam Anna and Zai bc they inspire me and i love them so fucking much.

Did I beta read this? No.

Did I have this beta-read? Also no. Sorry.

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

It feels like being struck by lightning—jolting, electrifying, fatal.

This moment in its entirety is like being struck by lightning.

He had to watch her go from dejected, giving up on him as he tells her that it's not a good idea to let Mary have the pin still, even after knowing that _her_ Mary and _his_ Mary are one person, to angry—very angry. She looks positively murderous, and then it's like a switch has been flipped, and she looks at him with just a look of defeat, or understanding, it's hard to tell apart, and then she shakes her head and then moves to make a leave.

He hates this. He hates to see her like this, to watch her push her chair backwards and stand up and turn away from him. He hates that he knows she's hurting and he's the one causing it—it's been the one thing he's been kicking himself over and over the most for the past few weeks. He hates the fact that it kills him right now that he has to watch her leave at all. Perhaps, it's karmic retribution for him doing the exact same thing moments after he's given in to the deepest desires of his heart and had taken from her what she hadn't really explicitly given, and then walking away as if it all meant nothing. It's his penance now to watch her do the same, all because he is a stupid, stubborn fool.

Her words strike him deep in the core as she tells him that he means something to her, that it's okay, it _has_ to be, if he doesn't feel the same way, but she's felt something for him, still does, and he can't take that away. His heart knocks on his chest and his soul sings _halleluiah_ as he hears those words, and maybe it's wicked of him to feel this way, to still want her to feel something for him, but he hasn't really realized how much he's craved it until she's telling him.

He feels every nerve ending tingling as she talks about her feelings for his daughter, feelings she's felt even without knowing Mary _is_ his daughter. He feels his emotions run through him and he feels like singing, or dancing, or shouting from the rooftops. He feels so intensely for her, it's hard to believe that someone like her feels the same way.

It is all he can do not to jump out of his chair and grab her and kiss her senseless or make love to her, or do something that will probably put them in a compromising position. He's wondering how to respond, or if there should be any response at all, when she pauses and then, "I love you, there I said it," she mutters. He's taken aback by the impact in which the force of those words hit him. His heart trips and then stops right then, and he's thinking of how hard it must have been for her to say those words, how brave she is to do so, and his admiration of her grows, his chest tightens and his heart grows inside his body until it's filled with affection for her, large, much too large for him to handle or comprehend.

He stops, and everything around him stops for a while, it's like the clock stops ticking, and he's not sure how many minutes, hours, maybe even days have passed by as he stares at her, shocked, shook, surprised. He's pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, and he's pretty sure that he looks like a fool.

He feels a maelstrom of feelings all at once as he sits there and listens to Cora as she rails on him, rants over how he can't make him feel like what she's felt is nothing, or that it isn't real. She's right, he knows that, and it hasn't ever been his intention to make her feel like her feelings, what they had, and everything else hasn't been real. It was, _is,_ for him, too, and of all the things that confuse him, it's not one of that. Of that, of how real it is, he's sure. If it hasn't been real, then all this pining and whining he's been doing for the past few weeks wouldn't make any sense.

None of anything ever makes sense anymore as his mind and heart zone in on those tiny three word phrase that tipped his world over. He watches her turn around again, and blood pumps loudly against his ear, his heart racing a mile per minute, and his nostril flaring at every harsh breath he's taking.

He doesn't think.

That's what he's going to tell himself when he looks back into it, a few months, years, or moments down the line when retrospection and hindsight become a thing, and he will always just know that he hadn't thought. He didn't think.

He couldn't.

He leaps out of his chair as he calls her name, watches her halt her steps, her body twisting and turning around to face him. There's shock registering clearly in her clear blue eyes, and she looks as though she's confused as all hell at the same time, but he does not have the time to explain or say anything. He grabs her elbow, grips it tight enough that she can't go anywhere but not enough to leave a bruise, and he pushes against her, or maybe pulls her into his arms—either way, she lands in his arms, her chest hitting his, and he lowers his head a fraction and pulls her closer and closer to him. She meets him halfway, and the moments that follow—he swears it's positively electric.

For a split second, he breathes her in, his lips hover over hers, and it's a split second that he doesn't spend worrying over the consequences of his actions. It's a split second he spends memorizing every detail of this moment, of the way her face is upturned, her eyes are closed, her lips are parted slightly, waiting and wait, her neck is inching upward, reaching for him. He doesn't make her wait one more moment, he— _too_ —meets her halfway. He presses his lips against her, his right hand still gripping her elbow and the other sliding up to the small of her back, as he holds her closer to him, at the same time stepping backwards so she's trapped against him and the door.

This is a bad idea, he thinks, but god damn it, he's never had a bad idea that's tasted this good.

She tastes of cherries, and mint, and something unique he categorizes as her—she tastes sweet, like victory, like pleasure—something that he hasn't let himself savor the first time he's kissed her. He kisses her endlessly, tilts his head this way and that, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she grants him the access he's begging for. He doesn't' need more prompt that that, and he pushes his tongue in, explores her mouth in a way and leaving no corner or crevice untouched. For a while he feels like a man starved tasting food for the first time. He's hungry for her, he can admit that freely and without inhibitions. He's been so hungry for her since the moment he's met her.

She's ambrosia and he's a mere man tasting the drink of the gods for the first time.

It's reviving him in a way nothing ever could, and he feels his blood rush through him (mostly down south), and he feels as though he's drowning at the same time. It feels weird, new, exciting—he's never really felt like this before, and by God, he wishes the kiss would never stop.

He doesn't even care anymore. This woman loves him, and despite himself he knows he feels something for her, too. He might even love her, even he knows how wrong that it.

He slides his hand from her elbow to her back, joining the other as he pulls her closer and closer until there's nothing but a hair's breadth separates him from her. He can't tell where she ends and where he starts, but he doesn't care, it doesn't matter, he doesn't want to know—for this moment, they are one, and that's all that matters.

He's not sure if kissing her is his lifeline, but right at this moment, it sure as hell feels like it.

Her hands are wrapped around his neck, but despite her pulling him closer, she slows down the kiss, her head tilting the other way, until the kiss is but a whisper and her lips press soft, small butterfly kisses from his lips, to his chin, up his jaw, to his cheeks, to his eyes and down the tip of his nose. Her lips linger on his nose and she kisses him again, one more time on his lips for good measure, before her head falls to his shoulder, her forehead against his cheek, and her nose against his neck, nuzzling it.

He feels her breath tickling his flesh, and goose bumps rise against his skin as he tries to regulate his breathing. His heart is racing, thumping loudly against his chest, he's half certain it's about to pop right out of his shirt. His hold on her doesn't slacken, and in fact he holds her closer, crushes her in his embrace because as much as he doesn't admit it (not knowing what to make of himself if he does), he _needs_ this. He needs this moment where everything is quiet, where the nagging at the back of his head are nothing but mere murmurs, and he's able to savour holding her close, that he's able to even hold her in his arms.

She's not speaking either, just clings into him, holds him as tightly as he does her, and they bask in the silence for a while, lets the moment sink in, and lets their heart be filled with the mere thought of their kiss.

He knows it's not very likely, but he wishes this moment won't end.

Disappointment's settled in his chest when she'd pulled away, and reluctantly he'd allowed her, but right now, right this moment—holding her, this is enough.

 **...**

Cora doesn't quite believe that it's happened.

Robert's kissed her, and he didn't bolt afterwards. He'd held her in his arms and kissed her as though it is their last day on earth. If she's honest, if this _is_ their last day on earth, she won't be quite disappointed.

She fills her mind with the memory of his lips against hers, of his taste, minty and sweet and something very uniquely his, and she tries to memorize the way he smells, the way he feels in her arms as she holds on to him. If she's dreaming, she doesn't quite want to wake up.

She's aware though of the reality closing in on them. They cannot stay like this forever, even if they want to. They might get caught and someone might misinterpret this—whatever is happening here, although she's sure that there is not much room for misinterpretation after what had just happened.

The kiss, as good and intimate as it had been, doesn't change anything. She is still her, and he is still him, and what they have here is a complicated love affair that cannot continue. They're only going to end up being so hurt, and although there is nothing more in this world that she wants to be his and him to be hers, it's not possible. She cannot sacrifice his life and his world just for a moment of bliss. She cannot be selfish. There is still Mary to think about, and if they get caught, he'll lose his job and reputation, then what of him and Mary then?

She can survive the rumour mill, at the end of the day she can still go to other schools...but him...his reputation would be tarnished, their relationship, or whatever this _is_ , will be the death knell of his career and she cannot do that to him.

She's been pining for him so much, but the reality of Mary hits her like a train and really, enough is enough.

With a great deal of reluctance, she unwinds her arms from where they're circling around his neck, pushes herself away from him and backs away toward the door, feeling the knob dig against her spine—but she doesn't mind anymore.

She watches the confusion his beautiful blue eyes, and suddenly she's even more aware of what they've done of where they are and what she's about to do. It's confusing for her, too. To love him so intensely she feels as though emotions might suffocate her, but knowing that loving him also means letting him have what's best for him...even if it hurts her.

He is her first true love, after all, the first man to ever catch her attention or her heart. She's had...feelings before, had gone on to dates, and even had flings that she'd thought might turn into something more, but not one of them has ever made her feel this way. Phyllis is right: the length of the relationship does not determine the intensity of the feelings. She's known him only a few months, but she's so in love with him it almost hurts.

"You were right," she says in a low voice as her eyes fall to the ground, avoiding his, because she can't look at him as she says this. "We really cannot do this. We can't...I can't do this to Mary. No matter how much I love you, Robert, she comes first, and if we...there are so many things at stake, most important of all of them is Mary and her future, and we can't risk that."

She can almost feel the tension deflate, sees the way his body sags. She feels his fingers grasping her chin, and slowly, gently, he tips her head up until their eyes meet, and she sees the defeat in her eyes, the way they soften and the way they seem to agree with her all at once.

They both know they cannot do this.

"You're right," he tells her, and though she knows that, it doesn't stop the pain from stabbing at her heart, and she wishes, wishes that he would say she's not, that they can make this work, that it _can_ work...but she knows that this time, it won't, that this time she _is_ right.

Selfishly, she hopes they're two different people, living two different lives, and somehow, someway when their paths meet again, they can make it work.

They are _not_ though, and _this_ is what reality looks like for them.

"I know," she murmurs, her eyes boring deeply into his, and for a moment she wants to lean in, kiss him again, throw away every inhibitions in the wind and claim him for herself.

She cannot.

She _won't_ either.

"I would never tell you it's not real," he says then, after the silence stretches between them and they stand there, awkwardly touching each other and fighting the need to _hold on_ to each other. "I couldn't, because it's real for _me,_ too. It's _too_ real, and there are days...bloody hell, _everyday_ you are all I think about. You and Mary. If I am not thinking of my daughter, I am thinking of you...and I want to know, I want to know everything...what you're doing, who you are with, what you're thinking, if you're thinking of me, too." He pauses and Cora could swear her heart has leapt through her throat and her mind has flown to the clouds. She's wondered for so long, wondered if he felt the same way as she does, and maybe she'll never get to hear him say it...but she _knows_ , she knows _now._ "I wonder what it would be like if loving you wasn't so wrong. If being with you wasn't so wrong, would we actually be together? And I don't know the answer to that, but I do know what I _want_ the answer to be, and yes, hell yes, _I_ _fucking do_. And sometimes, as selfish as it sounds, I wish you and I were different people, living different lives, and can be together freely."

She wants to stop him there, doesn't want to hear anymore because another word and her heart will break further. Tears gather at her lashes and she fights to keep them from falling. The love she feels for this man is too much, too all encompassing, and it shakes her to the core, leaves her shivering for love and want for him.

"I...I cannot tell you how much I want a future with you, and how much it hurts me that it's not possible...that we met at this circumstance and are caught up in this situation." His hands drop from her chin and grab hers, holding them, squeezing gently, before he lifts them to his lips and places small kisses against her skin, reverently. "But thank God for you anyway, because since Mary, you're the best thing that's happened to me after a long time."

Cora almost faints at his words. He can say _I Love You,_ in many different ways, in many different languages, in many other different words, but this is _his_ way of saying it, and despite everything, every pain, every tear in her heart that she has to heal...his way is beautiful.

And she has never felt more loved than she does right now.

She grips his hands and lets go, only to throw her arms around him once more and hold him. She cannot help it. She has to feel him in her arms one last time.

She tries to smile when she pulls away, but tears cloud her vision and where she's tried to control them from falling, she fails now and he has to reach up to brush them away. He reaches down to place a kiss against her cheeks and then on her forehead where his lips linger.

"I have to set you free," he murmurs. It hurts but she knows, she understands why. "It's the way it has to be. I can't give you the happiness that you deserve." She wants to argue with that, even opens her mouth to voice out her protests, but he silences her with a soft kiss at the corner of her lips. "Love should be freeing, wonderful, liberating, it shouldn't hurt as much as thing, and as beautiful as what we have is or maybe, even what we _could_ have, it's not something I can give you right now, and it's selfish of me to ask you to wait, so I have to set you free and let you find your happiness, even if it's not with me."

She winces at that, ever so doubtful that she will find happiness where he isn't, where Mary isn't. She would wait for him forever if it is what it takes, but she doesn't want to put him in a position that would compromise him, or his reputation, or his daughter. And if along the way he finds someone more suitable, someone he can love without the hassle of what they have, someone he can love freely and without complications, then who is she to stop him?

"And you'll have to do the same for me, for you to truly be happy."

She can't argue with that, doesn't have any more fight in her body to do so, and she sags against him, lets all of it go even if her heart break into a couple million pieces at his words.

She nods against him, wills herself to move away from his touch, to let him go as he tells her he will do, too. But it's hard, and though she says she'll do the same, even as her lips utter that she understands, that this time she will let him go and not pine for him like she'd done before...her heart tells a different story.

 **...**

He is pathetic.

And it's not a brand new information or even something that he hasn't told himself, although he tends to remind himself of the fact every once in a while, especially when he is being spectacularly so.

It's almost funny how he's the one who'd made her feel as though there is no other recourse, that being together is simply not possible for them, and he believes it, too, but he is the one who is sitting in a bar days after their confrontation, downing pint after pint, pining for the one woman he wants but cannot have.

Is it the appeal of it? Is it because he cannot have her that this desire has become so intense?

He likes to think it isn't so. No, he _knows_ it isn't so. He's been confused about how he feels for her, about the intensity of the feelings he harbours for her, but hearing her say the words aloud, for the words to drop and flow from her lips like honeyed water: freely and sweet, he feels as though he can't deny it.

He _is_ in love with her.

Wrong, stupid, complicated, sure, but he _is_ anyway, and of course, why shouldn't his love life be alike another Greek Tragedy, right?

She's too good for him, and she has such a bright future ahead of her that being with him with hold her back so much. He's not exactly the most conventional man in the world, and as much as he loves his daughter, she's _his_ baggage to carry, one he does not want to foist to Cora just like that. He loves Cora enough to know that she deserves the world and beyond, and Mary and him might not exactly be that.

Besides, isn't he too old for her? Cora is barely legal in the US, a fresh faced 22 year old young woman, falling for a brooding man in his mid to late thirties doesn't equate to much for him, really. He will only hold her back, he knows it, and he also knows that _this—_ letting her go and setting her free to let her find happiness is the best thing he's done.

It weighs heavily on him as he wants to _be_ her happiness, be the reason she smiles every day, but it doesn't weigh as heavily as the past few months have. This time they _have_ closure. Running away from his desire and from the kiss they shared is him being cowardly and it leaves things with an open ending, but admitting right out that he's not good for her and they should let each other go seems like the right end.

Painful and gutting, sure, but it can maybe even be noble.

God. He _fucking_ hates being noble.

"No one as handsome as yourself should brood in a place like this," he hears someone say over the drone of the soft music playing in the background and he's very tempted to tell this person to fuck off, not minding his manners.

But heartbreak is no reason to be rude, really, so he looks up and smiles at the woman staring back at him with a small smile of her own. His eyes fall onto hers and for a moment he's taken aback, feels momentarily speechless at the resemblance. Is he so heartbroken that he's started seeing Cora everywhere? It takes him a moment to realize that no, it's the same blue eyes, same dark hair, and same pale skin, but this woman in front of him holds no candle against his Cora. It is suddenly the wrong shade of blue, lighter hair, and darker skin. Not Cora, at all.

"My name is Jane," she offers without him asking and he fights the temptation to roll his eyes, and he nods at her, doesn't say more. She doesn't need much invitation though as she pulls the chair across him, the legs scraping against the floor as she drags it a little way from the table and then slides into it swiftly. "Mind if I keep you company?"

 _Yes_ , he wants to say he does mind, but doesn't, instead he shakes his head and gestures for the seat she has already taken without express permission.

Misery _does_ love company after all.

"I'm Robert," he tells her, extending a hand for her to shake, which she does, smiling at him before she drops the handshake and takes a sip of her drink, prompting him to the same.

"So what is your story?" she asks, and though he's not particularly comfortable sharing his story to strangers, it is oddly comforting to tell the tale of his prematurely ended love affair. "Unhappily married?"

He snorts, shaking his head. "I can never be unhappily married," he mutters, lifting his glance to take a large gulp of his pint, downing what's left in the glass. He waves for the waiter and orders one more, and ' _whatever the lady wants'._ He doesn't have any class the following day and Mary is his with his sister so he _can_ wallow in self pity for now. When his drink arrives, the waiter also serves the woman— _Jane_ —a glass of margarita.

"Ah, botched love affair, then?" she asks him, and yep, that's what it is, isn't it?

He nods. "I suppose," he says. His shoulder lifts and falls as his head shakes. "It's complicated."

"It always is, isn't it?" she tells him sympathetically, her hand landing against his bicep, and he looks at her, looks into her eyes, and yes, it's the wrong kind of blue...but he can't have the right kind, now, can he?

 **...**

Cora has always been a fan of the water.

Growing up with a vacation house in Newport means that every summer, her family goes down to the beach nearby or utilize the pool that her father has had installed in their property specifically for her enjoyment. And as far as her memory serves, Cora has always been a fan of swimming. She's not the competing level type, but she'd enjoyed it, until she'd found her passion for art and painting, and swimming has fallen into the sideways, something she does more of a hobby when she has spare time.

When she'd been in her senior year in high school, she had all but abandoned the hobby, and only picked it up back again on her second year in University when she'd stumbled along a private indoor swimming pool that she'd had to pay a hefty pound for membership but is totally worth it for times like right now.

The pain that the closure of her _relationship_ with Robert has brought sits heavily in her chest. It's tearing her apart to do this, to have done what she did, to let him go and agree with him when he said it is for the best. In her heart, she knows it's not, doesn't want to believe that it is anyway. But she cannot upend his whole life and Mary's just because of her selfish desire to be able to love him and be with him.

It isn't really fair to him.

She's trying, really, she is, she is trying very hard to let him go, to let this all go and tell herself to move on and get over him. But moving on is an easy thing to say but a tough action to put into motion, and there is a selfish part of her that just wants to throw caution to the wind and risk it all.

Everything else be damned.

She thinks of Mary and reels herself back in.

She breathes in, out, tries to distract herself with swimming. It's what she's come here for, isn't it? To distract herself, to forget?

So she makes her way to the diving board, positions herself properly for her dive and then jumps, feels her form slice against the surface as she plunges into the water. It is warm, warm enough to justify the amount of money she's paying for to be in here, and for awhile she basks in that. She basks in the warmth of water against her skin, the pressure she feels as she dives deeper into the pool, eyes closed, arms threading through the undercurrents.

She stays there, lets the silence encompass her and wonders briefly whether it would be a great idea to just stay down there forever. She wouldn't have to hear the sound of her life falling apart if she's under water forever, right?

The need for air burns her lungs but she fights to stay under for a little more time, revelling, basking, and liberating herself from the constraints of her heartbreak. She feels like an idiot, a fool, feels ashamed for letting this one little thing rule over her and her life, but the imbalance this situation she'd found herself in has thrown her off her game and it's very difficult not to focus on it.

After all the pain radiates from her heart, to her mind, to every fibre of her being and she sometimes finds very little will to live anymore.

No longer able to sustain being underwater without being suffocated and drowning, she pushes forward until she finds the surface and she breathes in, takes long gulps of air as she swims to the more shallow end of the pool. Throwing herself to the concrete and leaning against it to stay afloat, she closes her eyes and breathes, fights the tears that's not threatening to fall.

She also fights the thoughts that invade her mind like...what could Robert be doing right now...is he thinking of her?

Maybe not.

Yeah, probably not.

 **...**

Robert is pissed.

He is pissed but not angry, but more like drunk.

He is pissed drunk and stupid and in love with Cora Catherine Levinson.

Great, someone should put that in his headstone when he dies.

Chuckling, he shakes his head, and slams the fifth (or is it the seventh? Who even knows anymore?) glass of beer he's bottomed out down on the table.

He hears someone giggle next to him, equally as drunk, and he turns to look at her or them, as there seems to be more than one of her in his vision right then.

"Something funny, Robert?" she slurs, hands gripping his shoulder, and yes, yes something is funny. His whole fucking life is funny, like it's a joke.

"My life," he says, stumbling over two simple words, and how dare he even call himself a literary scholar if he can't say two simple words without sounding like a bumbling fool. "It feels like someone who can't write is writing the story of my life and fucking it up really badly."

She laughs at that, wet and loud and sounding extremely drunk. "I feel the same," she says with a chortle. She stands up then, her chair scraping loudly against the floor before it topples over.

How can two people be so drunk, he asks himself as they laugh over such simple, idiotic thing?

"Where are you going?" he asks her, and she smiles at him, shakes her head and says:

"No Robert, _we_ , we're going somewhere."

 **..**

For as long as Robert lives, he'll never truly know or recall or even understand how in the fuck he had been able to make it home that fateful night. Or even why he'd decided that bringing home this stranger had been a good idea.

In retrospect, he'd blame the alcohol and the heartbreak for the string of bad decisions that follow that first step into hell, but right then, he's not thinking and any thoughts he might have are muddled and infused with the toxic that is alcohol, and so really, he cannot be held responsible for any of the actions he might have made since.

His heart is pounding and his blood is pumping as he grasps the brass knob of his hand, turning it, and pushing the door open. The house is silent and dark, as he had fired his daughter's nanny a few days back after what Cora had told him and Mary is at a sleepover with her auntie's.

He feels her—Jane, his drunken mind supplies—hands slither from his stomach to his chest as she pushes him inside. She pulls him down to her eye level and he obliges, too drunk really to do much else, and fuses her lips with his in a heated kiss.

There are a couple of things already wrong in this scenario, and it starts with this kiss. Robert ignores the alarm bells ringing inside his head and tries to focus on the here and the now.

His mind wanders, though, to the kiss he's just shared with Cora a few days ago, and how hot that had been, how intimate, and how wrong this feels now even as this woman pushes him down the couch and straddles him. It's more _right_ than kissing his student of course, or at least a little less scandalous, but his heart betrays him, and though he knows he isn't doing anything wrong, technically, it still _feels_ wrong, so very _wrong_ , and no...no he can't do this.

"No," he murmurs, pulling away and pushing against the waist of the woman currently sitting on his lap.

It's all very wrong.

"We can't do this," he mutters, and he looks at her with seriousness that belays the sobriety he hadn't possessed only moments before. He feels well and truly sober now though as he looks at the blue eyes staring back at him with confusion and hurt in them following his wordless rejection.

It is then that he realizes exactly how wrong this, everything is.

She looks as though she might question his decision, but he shakes his head, stands up and straightens himself. "I'm in love with someone else," he tells her simply for it is the truth. His love for Cora is far greater than his need to get laid or move on from her in this way, and he can't...he cannot do _this_.

She nods once and gathers her dignity around her like a cape visibly. She squares her shoulders and juts her chin high, looking away for a brief second before looking him straight in the eye.

"Alright," is all she says in response.

He nods silently before offering her a spare bedroom to tide the drunkenness over in and offering to buy her breakfast the next morning. She declines but he insists that it's the least he can do for the humiliation he knows she undoubtedly feels.

"Okay then if you insist," she agrees easily before requesting to know the way. He leads her to the spare bedroom before sequestering himself in his own room.

He doesn't get much sleep that night, despite the exhaustion, but he did get an overwhelming urge to hate himself.

And when he wakes up the next morning, fully intending to move on from this stupid night and forget any of these ever happened, the universe conspires against him and pays him with karma as the first pair of eyes he meets upon stepping inside Daisy's to grab breakfast with Jane by his side are the same blue ones that has haunted him last night.

* * *

 **A/n: i will fix it I promise. Let's get this to a hundred, yeah?! Yes! ?**


	6. Chapter 6

I once told Zai that I either update within 3 days, 3 months, or 3 years. I guess I'm in between. Hope you guys like it! Un-betaed so sorry for the mistakes, as usual.

PS. I know there were alerts sent out about a Collide update. I'm sorry for the mishap. I was fixing the chapters on the site and it was updated or something like that. Anyway, I do have an update, not for Collide but here on AFG so I hope that's something. It's also super-sized as a way to redeem myself.

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

The funny thing about hearts is that they break…not loudly—not even audibly, not visibly, and not physically, but they do. And even funnier, is that you feel it. It's that moment when something clenches inside your chest, like a vice grip, and pain radiates through everything and everywhere, and desolation and despair settle on you like a cloak.

She knows the exact moment hers broke.

She is an idiot. She knows that now, reminds herself far too often to _not_ know, but sometimes she wishes she listens to her gut far more than she does, and maybe, just maybe it hurts less. She hadn't expected it, though, had not thought he would be daft enough to bring someone to _Daisy's_. And, yes, maybe it's just her, her being sentimental and emotional and giving more meaning to things than she should, but he _had_ been the one to tell her that she'd meant something to him, too, so this…well _this_ is a bit of a disappointment.

Maybe it's just her being stupid…she had an irrational thought that Daisy's is _theirs_ , something to share between the two of them, their secret place in this judgmental world they're living in. After all, it's where they first really interacted and had gotten to know each other. Maybe it had been nothing but selfish of her to be so territorial of it and be hurt that he'd brought someone else in it. And by the looks of things, it's not just any _someone_. Given the strategic placing of his hand on the small of her back, it's safe to say that it's more than just _someone_.

It hasn't been but a few months, but he's obviously moved on, and more than the pain of knowing that Daisy's hadn't meant as much to him as it does to her, is that she can barely get up in the morning without wanting to cry, and he's out here getting dates.

Not that she can blame him, really. He is an attractive man, with an adorable daughter, and a stable life—what is there to ask more for? He is a catch, simply put, and it hardly comes as a surprise that someone has been caught or maybe trying to catch him. Besides, she had been the one to tell him they need to move on, that they can't do this, because of Mary, because it's complicated, and because one way or the other, they would just end up being hurt.

It hurts now though, so does that count?

She's so caught up in her thoughts that she forgets where she is: standing in the middle of _Daisy's_ looking Robert in the eye while her heart breaks in smithereens inside her chest. He's looking back at her, like a deer caught in the headlights, looking guilty as all fuck, and really, she struggles to understand why. If she's honest, she knows it will happen eventually...eventually like a year down the road, not a few weeks, but life sucks and the universe doesn't like to give her any favours so eventually is now, a few weeks after she had specifically asked him to move on.

She breaks away from their stare and fights back the tears she knows are coming, making a break for it and running out of the cafe, trying to keep her dignity intact as she half sprints her way out. She can almost feel the storm raging inside his psyche: should he call her or should he let go, lest they make a scene. She throws him a look that tells him to pick the latter, which, thankfully, he understands, and she runs out of there without another glance...out, out and away, and hopefully she'd left her broken heart there too.

No such luck.

 **. . .**

He really should have taken Jane to the nearest Starbucks'. Of course, he'd never really thought Cora would be there at such an hour, and he hadn't wanted to run into any of his students, so he'd taken Jane to Daisy's, fully intending to be in and out within minutes. Just order take out and drive her to her place or wherever she'd want to drop him off. That had been the plan. Running into Cora hadn't been part of it, and seeing the pain in her eyes when it registered to her that he'd not been alone had not been part of it either.

It had killed him, to see her so hurt, to watch her watch them as they'd entered the establishment just as she's leaving. It had been painful for him to watch her understand who he's with and why exactly they'd be here at such an hour, and he wishes she's just misconstruing things, except there isn't much to misconstrue, apart from nothing happened last night...but something _almost_ had.

That he should feel guilty like he'd cheated on her when they aren't even together is unnatural, but holy fucking hell, he deserves every bit of guilt he feels right now, because he's hurt her...yet fucking again.

When will the day come when he makes her smile instead of cry?

He watches her now as she looks away and hurries out of the cafe. He wants to follow her, debates with himself if he should, but she throws him a look that tells him to back off, and despite not wanting to, he follows her lead. He doesn't want to make a scene, and doesn't want to force her into a conversation.

What would he say?

At this point sorry doesn't seem enough.

He wants to hold her and tell her he can't live without her, and while the latter stands, he can't do much about it. He _has_ to live without her and endure the pain of a life not lived together.

He tries to remember all the reasons that it's wrong, and of course, they're all so hard to forget, so he sighs, lets her go and urges Jane up the line. It's quick after that: they order, take their food and coffee to go and leave.

She gives him a look telling him she's wondering why he's hurrying everything along, but he plays nonchalance and ignores it. If she hasn't realized by now, then he's not about to explain either. It's none of her business anyway.

She asks him to drop her off by the pub they'd met the night before, telling him her car is still there. She leans in to him when he puts the car on park, and leaves the engine running, waiting for her to get down and out of his life. He knows he's acting like a grade A asshole right now, but after that whole thing with Cora, he's earned the title well.

He looks at her as she leans in, watches as she aims to give him a kiss on the cheek. He neither moves nor reciprocates, just sits there stoically, waiting. When she gets no response from him, she huffs and then moves to get out of the car. It takes him all of two seconds to speed the fuck away from that place and never look back.

He wishes to say he's never done anything, but he knows it's not true.

He's an idiot and all he can do now is regret it.

 **. . .**

Regret.

That is what Cora feels right at the moment as she shifts in her chair, trying to get more comfortable. She's in the library, currently, trying to get through Carson's Sociology of Economics lecture. He's giving his exam the following day, and of course, Cora is cramming, trying to learn half a semester's worth of study material into one night of learning.

Idiot, if you ask her.

But then again, she's an idiot about many, many things, so what's new?

A picture of Robert and the mystery woman together at Daisy's pops into her mind and she shakes her head. Yep, she's an idiot for falling for Robert and his charms, and so fast and so quick at that, too, that's not new. And it doesn't matter anymore, really—it has been weeks since then, two weeks and three days (not that she's counting or anything, she has far more productive things to do than that). What matters is that tomorrow she has an exam for a subject she barely understands, and she knows absolutely nothing.

She huffs and shifts on the chair again (at least it's the couch type and there's no one in the library but her, so that is a relief), the book she'd borrowed shifting along in her lap. She can barely concentrate, can barely register the words she's reading right now. There's so much that she can absorb, and at this point, everything she's reading is just a mess and a jumble in her brain.

God, she's so exhausted.

"May I have this seat?" she hears someone ask, and she looks up to find a guy looking down at her and gesturing at the chair across from her.

There are literally hundreds of other chairs in the library and it baffles her that he should choose that one, but she does not have the monopoly on the seats and he literally can choose whatever and whichever chair he likes so she sighs, flicks her wrist in a dismissive wave and nods her head before turning her attention back on the book she's been _trying_ to read.

"Thanks," she hears him say again and she fights to roll her eyes.

She hears the scraping of the chair, hears the shuffling of paper as he opens his own book and turns the page. She pays him little to no mind, because as long as he doesn't disrupt her studies then she could really care less what he's doing.

She kicks herself for the thought, wondering exactly when she'd become this irritable, bitter woman, but realizing when at the same moment and mentally, she rolls her eyes at herself.

Seriously, she needs to get a grip.

"You're in Carson's Sociology of Politics, too, right?" she hears him ask again, and she looks up with a raised eyebrow, her lip sinking down on her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming at it. "Um...Cora? Is that right?"

Does she really look like she's in the mood to talk right now? It registers to her, besides, that he knows her name while she can't even locate his face in her brain, but then again, it's a large class, and it's not that unlikely that he knows her some way or the other. It might be just a tad creepy, but it's not that improbable, so she bites down on her lip, biting down the urge to snap as she does.

She sighs, nodding. "Yes, and we have an exam tomorrow that I haven't studied for, so if I may—," she tells him, gesturing towards the ginormous book sitting on her lap.

Is this guy serious?

"Yes, of course, of course," he says, nodding his head, and then turning his attention back on his notes and book as well.

Cora sighs in relief, wondering how long the peace would last before he's asking her again. Thankfully, it stretches longer, and by the time she feels as though her eyes are going to roll off from their sockets, he'd not only remained quiet, but she's actually retained some information that might help her with tomorrow's exam.

Satisfied that she'd at least get a passing rate, she closes the book she's holding and puts it on the table. She gathers all of her things, striving to be quiet, knowing that while she'd been rude earlier, the guy in front of her deserves the quiet he'd robbed her off earlier. She shucks all of her things inside her bucket bag and makes the move to stand, gathering the book in her arms as well so she can put it back in its rightful place.

When she'd done all that, she makes her way out of the library, bidding the librarian a soft goodbye and goodnight. The librarian smiles softly in return, waving at her.

The doors open and the cold air hits her skin. She tips her chin up and breathes the brisk air, lets it fill her lungs and clears the air out in one exhale, feeling grateful that she's done for now and that she can just drop on the bed when she gets home.

At least she has that going on for her, a big empty, lonely bed, and a beating and breaking heart.

The thought alone makes her shudder in emptiness and pain, makes her not want to go home, even knowing she _has_ to, and that even if she doesn't, there's not much place she can go to at this late hour.

 _There's always Daisy's_ , her traitorous mind tells her, but she tamps down on that thought as fast as it comes. She's not sure she can ever step foot on the establishment again (she can and she _will_ , she knows that, because it seems such a stupid and miniscule event to let get in the way of really good pastries, but it's going to take time because the pain and the memory are still too raw, and she can't, not _yet)_ , so that's really out of the question right now.

She sighs heavily and closes her eyes, makes a step down the long and exhausting staircase right outside the library, when she hears someone calling for her. She whips her head around and finds the same boy who'd sat next to her inside, waving and calling out for her. She fights the urge to roll her eyes.

"Cora," she hears him say and she forces a smile up on her lips, tries to be polite because no matter how much Cora might not exactly be in terms with the world, she's not going to take it out on an unsuspecting, if annoying, guy who's only trying to befriend her. If she's honest she could use more of those right now.

"Yes," she asks politely, eyebrow raised in question. She watches him as he struggles to catch his breath and waits for him to start speaking, and trying to regain the patience she doesn't have right at the moment.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so glad to have caught you," he says and then rummages in his bag for something, before pulling out a bunched up fabric that looks awfully familiar to her. He brandishes it in the air and waves it in front of her. "You've left this."

Her eyes widen in realization as her hand flies up to her neck and she tries to grope the scarf that isn't there. She smiles shyly, a bit guiltily and a little bit embarrassed, and takes it from his hand. She feels her finger brush against his, and tries not to notice the way his cheeks flared as though it's his first time being touched by another person. Not that it matters to Cora.

"Oh, thank you," she murmurs as she raises her arms and starts wrapping the scarf around her neck. "I didn't realize I had forgotten in. Thanks for giving it back to me."

He smiles at her in return. "I'm just glad to have caught you. I didn't notice the scarf until I was packing my stuff up myself."

She nods. "Anyway, thanks," she tells him sincerely, the guilt starting to creep into her veins now that she's realized how nice he's just being and how short fused her patience had been with him. To be fair, she's been short fused with everyone lately. The aftermath of a broken heart, she supposes. She looks at him and gestures behind her. Her toes are feeling the cold despite the socks and the long boots. "I'm going now, thanks again..."

"Simon," he supplies, and her cheeks flare in embarrassment because she had not even bothered to remember his name, while he'd been able to remember hers and what class they'd been in together.

"Yes, thank you, Simon," she tells him with a sweet smile, before nodding at him once. "Guess, this is where I leave you. Good luck with the exams."

"You too," he replies politely. "Good night, Cora."

"Good night, Simon. See you around." And then she's off with a soft smile on her face.

 **. . .**

Robert has a penchant for bad decisions, and he's been making so much of them lately that it's been hard to tell one from the other.

Exhibit A, he's found himself completely enamoured with someone he's not allowed to feel anything more than completely platonic and professional feelings for...whatever that means.

Exhibit B, against his better judgment, he's been seeing Jane on and off lately...well, for the past few weeks anyway. It's nothing serious, he tells himself, and really, it's not, not when he's still as hung up with Cora as he is, but Jane helps him forget for a moment that his heart no longer belongs to him, but offering it to the one person he wants to give it to is not exactly an option. Jane helps him forget for a moment that said heart is broken and won't be mended anytime in the foreseeable future.

So yes, he's a hot a mess with a lot of bad decisions lately, but he's doing the best he can...for his daughter, for Cora, and for himself. It's a lot harder than it seems, already hard to think about, and even harder to put into motion. It's a lot easier to ignore the situation all together and pretend that everything is as normal as it could be. He's not completely besotted with his student and trying to deny it, and he's just a professor with a daughter he loves with all his heart.

Sure, normal. The situations a little too fucked up for that, but hey, whatever works.

And right now, _whatever works_ is in the form of acting normal—like going to class and pretending Cora isn't sitting right at the corner of his left side every lecture, trying very hard to be inconspicuous and not stand out, not knowing that it doesn't really matter how hard she tries to blend in, he'll always notice her.

He tries very hard to glance her way more than necessary, i.e, never at all, and focuses on the other students that isn't her. Of course, that's a Herculean task in itself because she's...well, she's her. He notices everything about her. They've been doing well, though, both of them, at not being awkward around each other because they both try really hard not to be around each other very much, and given their statures in the campus and in life, it's not all that unlikely.

Thank god for small favours, he supposes. It seems just a tad bit too cruel if they'd had to pretend they don't feel for each other what they _do_ feel, and then be thrown to each other by the universe. Though, if you ask him, he's not going to be very surprised if it is what happens. After all, the universe has given him such bad luck lately, what with...well, having feelings for his student, the very woman he _cannot_ date.

And the woman he _can_ date, he's not all that too terribly interested in, to the point that he has to drag himself and his feet to meet with her because he knows it's the healthier way of coping than just pining for the one woman he really wants but cannot get. Moving on, he thinks to himself with grinding anger coursing through his veins. Moving on from Cora...that should be _easy...not!_

Of course, in addition to his long list of bad decisions, he's decided to go with Jane tonight to the opening of the art exhibit of a colleague. He knows he should not have asked, should have just opted to go by himself—it's less hassle that way, but his colleagues, or some that he's particularly close to, had noticed the change in him and had been asking after him, knows it's a woman who's caught his attention and has him acting this way (and, if they only know the truth, some jaws really would be hanging). So, maybe he's doing this to save face, to cover up, to extinguish the flames that's been far too fanned out...either way, he's going with Jane, and he finds he'd much rather stay in his flat with his daughter than go out.

Go out he must, however, having already committed to it, and go out he does, too. He picks up Jane in her flat a couple of blocks away from his, and drives them down to city in relative silence. On his part anyway, because Jane hasn't stopped talking since she'd climbed in his car, talking about her brother they'd been able to get admitted to a good prep school for the next semester, because he's supposedly some kind of a math whiz, and well, it's only befitting (her words, not _his)_.

He nods and hmms and aahs, at the right times and the right places, lets the silence fill in the words he doesn't say. She's pleased so far by his reactions and doesn't complain, or maybe even too absorbed at her younger brother's accomplishment to really take note of his silence. All the better, he muses.

They arrive at the gallery, and ever the gentleman, he opens the door for her and parks his hand at the small of her back as he throws the valet his keys to let him park the car. He leads Jane inside where he is instantly greeted by Professor Patmore, a stocky, short woman with red hair and a smiling face whose been teaching Food Science in the University longer than Robert could back track. She's friends with Professor Hughes and Professor Carson (who for some reason now remind him of Cora, though he is quick to ixnay the thought of her because really, how's that for moving on?), and they're all cluttered together, each holding glasses of champagne, laughing together and greeting him jovially. He greets back with as much enthusiasm as he possibly can, and introduces them to Jane. He watches carefully as Jane greets them back with a timid smile while subconsciously dropping his hand from the small of her back...or was that consciously done?

He excuses himself then, when he spots the man of the hour, Professor Lang, and makes his way to him. He pats the man on the back, immediately regretting it when the man jumps back a little. Lang has always been a little touchy, and he hadn't meant to startle, so Robert apologizes profusely, but Lang waves him off and Robert moves on to congratulate him for a job well done.

Lang positively beams and glows as they shake hands, and in some way, Robert is proud of him. He knows Lang has trauma from some even in his childhood, and that's why he'd taken up into painting (that's what he'd said anyway, and it is the theme now of the exhibit), and has been dreaming, ever since of being able to put his works into an exhibit.

Robert listens half-heartedly and smiles as Lang humbly brags about how this is a dream come true and he still can't believe it, even though he's been lobbying for this for the past year. Really, Robert's not in the condition for a social gathering, but of course, again bad decisions are his best friend lately, and so here he is.

He feels like going home, really, feels is mind drift and drift and float into far beyond the realm of realities and present time, until something catches his attention.

Or rather _someone._

Across the room stands Cora, eyes on a particular piece, though Robert doesn't care which, because his eyes are particularly on her. She's so beautiful, wearing that red dress with that lace material that covered her chest, neck, and arms. Her hair is up but there are wisps of fallen hair framing her beautiful face. God, she is exquisite, so stunning that the wind is knocked from his chest.

He thinks he can gaze at her for a long time, forever, and not be seen, but of course the universe still spins on its own axis, and she's still her, and he is still him.

And so at that very moment, Cora looks up, and their eyes meet.

 **. . .**

It feels like being blanched by ice cold water. Cora feels her blood run cold and her toes freeze, her feet planting firmly on the ground as she loses all the control on her bearings.

She hadn't expected _this_ , and why ever not, she does not understand. Of course he'll be here. The art exhibit she'd allowed Simon to drag her into had been Professor Lang's, the history professor and Robert's colleague, so of course he'll be invited and of course he'll be here. Being an Art History major and naturally a geek, Simon had scored an invite from the professor himself and Cora had allowed him to take her, and now she regrets that decision. Why hadn't she foreseen that she'll run into Robert here?

Ah, right, yep, hindsight is 20/20.

She stares back at him, and god, she wants to melt, he looks so good in his three piece suit, his hair combed back neatly, his eyes boring right into hers looking bluer than ever, looking even more gorgeous than ever. He's unmoving, and neither is she, and it could very well be a staring contest neither of them would lose.

She wants to look away, wants to turn around and run home. The kind of effect he has on her is ridiculous, and once again, she feels stupid and weak where he is concerned, but it's not like she can help it. The heart wants what it wants, and her heart wants _him._

At the corner of her eye, she spies a familiar form walking towards him, and she watches him and watches that form until they are in clear view. She feels her heart break inside her chest and she prays that it doesn't show in her eyes. Of course the person would be familiar. It's the same woman he'd brought with him to Daisy's that morning, and though she wants to ask him why...she knows the answer.

He's moving on. He's moving on and along with his life like she means nothing while she can barely get up every day. He's dating that woman when she's...well, she's so broken she doesn't even recognize the pieces of herself.

 _I don't have answers_

 _And neither do you_

 _But I know the pain of a heartbreak..._

The song in the background registers to her as they stand still—speaking to her...she does know the pain of a broken heart, knows it even more as she watches as the woman slithers her hand around Robert, trying to catch his attention. Robert reluctantly moves his gaze from Cora to the woman, and Cora feels the tears prickling the back of her eyelids. She doesn't want to cry anymore, has cried way too much and too many tears for this man, but the pain is intense, radiates from her heart to every corner and crevice of her body and soul, and try as she might to fight the urge to run, she can't.

With nothing left to do as heartbreak stares her right into the face, she flees.

 **. . .**

Timing _is_ everything. And right now, Robert curses Jane for her awful, terrible timing. Not that there's anything going on between himself and Cora as they stand in different corners of the room. But it's not exactly _nothing_ either, as their eyes held each other, words unspoken between them piling up and floating across the room in waves.

He turns his gaze to Jane reluctantly, though his attention is still with Cora, watching her from the corner of his eyes, watches as she runs away from the scene, her steps quick and hurried, her back turned from him in a quick second.

His feet are itching to follow her, to run behind her and catch her in his arms, hold her and never, ever let her go again, but he knows he can't do that now, not here. He can't run after her when there is a room full of people he works with, some might even be his students, because that's...that's going to be problematic, isn't it?

"Robert, do you think we might get something to eat after this?" Jane asks in a slightly bored tone. Obviously, she isn't much into this scene, and though Robert can relate to her on some level, this isn't his scene either, he'd have appreciated a feigned appreciation coming from her.

Robert chides himself. He could feign some interest in her, too, and have actually tried that, but it's not working. He's not really interested, not even a bit, and he's not entirely sure what he's even doing anymore, but he's no longer going to pretend like he's trying with her, to move on from Cora or whatever the fuck he's playing at, because it's not true. There is _no_ moving on from Cora.

"Jane," he begins and hates himself for doing this to her here of all places, but there's no right time or place to do this, right? "You're a lovely, beautiful young lady. You're exceptional, and one day you're going to find someone who will appreciate you for all that you are and all that you can give."

He lifts a hand and rubs his fingers on his temple, willing his courage to let him continue, but a look of recognition paints Jane's expression, and she looks up at him with watery grey eyes, looking so disheartened and understanding.

She nods at him and purses her lips, breathes in deeply as though she knows and is expecting the blow. "I get it. You're going to tell me, you're not the man for the job right?"

So, yes, she does know.

Robert breathes deeply before nodding slowly. "I'm afraid not," he tells her, and where regret should colour his tone, it does not. He sighs, a bit relieved she can see it for herself and he does not need to explain.

Jane closes her eyes and tries to compose herself. It dawns on Robert that they shouldn't really have this conversation in here, but here they are, and there's no going back. The words have fallen from his lips and they sit heavily between them.

"But...Robert," she says, and Robert gives all of himself to fight the groan threatening to come out of his lips. He's not really in the mood for this. He knows she deserves more explanation, and what he's pulling right now is Class A asshole—douchebag move, but...it's better for the long run. He'd rather end it here and now rather than hurt her in the future because he finds himself unable to move on from Cora, knowing he _won't_ quite move on from Cora, maybe ever.

Again, not the place for this conversation to be had.

"Look, Jane," he tries to explain in a levelled voice, trying to get his frustration out of his voice, because he has to remember that he's not exactly the oppressed here. "If I were...If I were another person, if this was another time, maybe it would have worked." _Absolutely not,_ he thinks but it's not the right thing to say. "But I am me, and this is the reality. I'm...You knew there's someone, and I thought that if I gave us this chance, I could move on, I could be happy. And for a while I thought I was, but it's not real. I'm not happy, and neither are you. I won't be, and you won't be either, because we both know my heart will always belong to...the other woman."

He sees the pain in her stormy grey eyes, and he feels for her, feels like a world class heel for doing this to her, and in the middle of an art exhibit nonetheless, but he can't live in the facade anymore, and he's not going to let her live in it either. He doesn't want to hurt her like that anymore.

He leans down and kisses her cheek. "I'm sorry, Jane," he mutters, before he straightens and leaves.

He knows he shouldn't, it's against all logic and rationality, but then again, bad decisions have become his best friend lately.

One more bad decision probably won't hurt.

(Or it would, badly, but he's past the point of caring.)

He runs after Cora.

 **. . .**

Cora feels the tears storming down her cheeks, and can hear her sobs even as she runs as far away from that stupid gallery as fast as her heels allow.

She'd told herself that she's cried enough tears for Robert already, and she's not going to do it again, but here she is.

She'd also told herself she isn't going to be stupid in love, like she'd seen her friends become, but also, hey, here she is. It is quite different though, to fall in love for the first time, to fall into love in this deep, inexplicable way, when all logic and rationality seems to be stripped away, and there's no limit to how much of an idiot one person can be. She's been in relationships and flings before, had fancied men before, but it's never been like this. Robert is different. There is something between them, a connection, like fates have intervened, and they'd met, to feel right and fall in love at such a wrong time.

Star-crossed lovers, that's what they are—destined to fall in love, but not destined to be together. And how tragic is that?

She runs, runs with her thoughts, and runs, until she can't anymore, till her lungs burn with the need for air, until she is standing half bent, her hands braced against a wall. In her haste, she'd forgotten to say goodbye to Simon, but she'll just send him a message later, tell him something came up and she couldn't find him in the gallery so she'd left, she's sorry, and she'll make it up to him. She'll think up something later, but right now, she'll catch her breath and try to mend her broken heart as much as she can.

How easy it is for Robert to move on from her, from what they'd had, but then she wonders—what is it that they'd had? A half-hearted love affair (only it isn't quite as half hearted as she wants it to be, isn't it? Not when it hurts this much that she wants to reach deep into her chest and take her heart out and throw it away, never to be found again), and a moment of weakness when they'd indulged in their feelings and kissed? It's not even much to justify feeling like this. But then, her friend's words echo in her ears. If it's real to her, then who's to say the pain she feels isn't real, too?

God, this is so messed up.

With her head running a hundred miles per second, she barely hears the car crawling behind her, until she hears her name being called, and she turns around to find the last person she'd wanted or expected to see.

"Robert," she breathes out, surprised and almost in disbelief. But his eyes are as blue and as warm as they have always been and he's looking at her like he might as well have offered her his heart in a silver platter.

It's really very hard to say no to that.

Not that she thinks she ever has the will to say no to that, anyway.

"Please, Cora," he begs her, and at that moment, with the look in his eyes directed at her, with so much concern and affection, Cora wants to melt and drown into his baby blues and never come up to the surface ever again. "Please let me drive you home, at least."

Cora swallows, and then without a word, she gets in the car.

Why resist when resistance has always been futile to begin with?

 **. . .**

There are no words exchanged between them as Robert speeds down the road with one intention in mind: to get Cora home safely. In all fairness, Cora has not said a word, and he does not really know what to say in times like this, so it hadn't been very difficult to keep the silence going on between them.

Cora is sitting stiff as a rod beside him on the passenger seat, her eyes trained on the road they're speeding past, anywhere but him while he cannot help but glance at her every second he can. He knows she's hurt, can see the track of tears on her cheeks, sees the smudge of her mascara, hears her soft sniffles though he can tell that she doesn't want him to see her pain. He wants, no _needs_ , to explain to her, needs to let her know that Jane had meant nothing, _means_ nothing, nothing compared to her. For how could Jane ever compare to the world of feelings he holds only for her? How ever could Jane compare to her, Cora, who has become his world in such a short amount of time. Jane cannot, and though it had been belated on his part, he'd seen now that this whole moving on from Cora by dating other women who look almost identical to her scheme isn't going to work and is only hurting all of them, causing more harm than good.

She will probably kill him for doing it, but in a split second he makes his decision and turns left instead of right. She looks at him sharply, but doesn't say anything even as he finds a darkened alley to put his car on park. He turns to her, fully intending to explain the situation, with the hopes of alleviating her pain and easing her distress, nothing more, really, when he she turns to him, eyes blazing, her lips pursed but still swollen from crying, and Christ almighty, she's never been so beautiful, and he isn't able to control much of his anything, least of all his desires, and without another word and in a swift motion, he unbuckles her seatbelt and pulls her into his lap kissing her senseless.

All sense and logic flies away from him, not that there's much to begin with, and his mind reels, brings him back to that one time in his office, and though this kiss is more desperate than the last, it's not less delicious, and he can't help himself, finds himself cupping her ass and pulling her closer to him.

A make out session in his car had not been on the top of his list of priorities for this night, in fact kissing Cora had not been at all on his list though he's wanted nothing more since he'd had a taste of her, he finds himself kissing and kissing her, unable to stop himself.

The fire inside him blazes even stronger when she kisses him back, her hands cupping his head and her fingers entangling themselves with the strands of his air, and she leans in a little closer, mouth sucking on his bottom lip until he opens for her and she slips her tongue without preamble, making a deep moan to rumble from deep within his chest.

He tries to gather as much wit as he can and pulls away for one second to mutter the words he's been longing to say to her.

"Sorry," he mumbles against her lips, voice soft and low.

 **. . .**

"Sorry," she feels him say against her lips more than hears him, and she sighs, pulls back just enough so that she's not as tempted to engulf that one word with her kiss. She doesn't really want to hear it, doesn't care as much right at the moment (maybe later she would), only wants to kiss him forever and ever.

She breathes in a little deeper and allows herself to close her eyes once more. She counts from one, and gets to around the twenties before she opens her eyes again and stares him right in the eyes.

"I'm...I was there with a nice guy who's shown me quite a great deal of interest," she tells him and she isn't entirely sure why she is telling him such, but she is, and the words tumble from her mouth. "And he's a nice boy, Simon is...he's a student at the University like myself, and he's smart and funny, understands my love for art and listens to me. He's actually really a good listener."

She sees his face fall, the heart break clear in his blue eyes, even as his hands tighten their hold on her hips where he'd placed when she'd pulled back from him and their kiss. And no, that isn't her intention at all, it's not her intention to hurt him at all, or at least she doesn't think so. So, what is her point?

Robert closes his eyes and when he opens them, there's a determination there that she can't place, can quite understand. It's blazing like fire, and she's drawn to it like moth to flame. She thinks she wants to run too close and let herself be burned. After all, when she is alone in bed, too cold from missing him, she's already all too willing to set herself on fire just to feel warm again, right?

"He's a decent guy who is also good company. And with him, I don't have to look over my shoulder and worry that we'd get caught...I don't have to hold myself back, knowing how wrong we would be if we were together." It's the truth, she knows it, he knows it, there really is no need for her to reiterate it.

Robert clears his throat, and isn't it awkward that she's telling him this when she's on his lap and feeling his half-stiff mast between her thighs?

"I get it," he tells her, nodding. "He's..." he tries to say but she doesn't let him finish.

She cuts in with: "Not you." She breathes out, the admission freeing her more than she can possibly allow to let him know. "He's great and all that, but he's not you. He's never going to be you."

His breath hitches audibly, and he looks at her with wide eyes as though he cannot quite believe that she'd said what she just said. To be honest, she can't either.

"I—Jane is a mistake," is all he can say, and Cora is taken aback by his words, that she's not sure what to make out of it. She wonders briefly if he has ever thought of her the same way. He hurries to explain. "I was drowning my sorrows with alcohol one night, which had been my first mistake, and I'd met her, we...I brought her home with me."

Cora feels the world crumbling around her and she wants to scream, throw punches, throw up...she wants to set that woman on fire and let Robert burn with her, but she swallows down her urges. She needs to be reasonable. Technically, she doesn't have any claim on Robert, even if he says he feels something for her.

"Nothing happened," he assures her quickly, and Cora feels marginally better at that, but still. "I can't...Not when...Well, I tried to date her, thought I'd get over you, _this_ , quicker if I had someone to distract me from the fact that..." He stopped there, leaving Cora hanging, and she stares at him, waits him out, but he remains stubbornly quiet.

"What?" she prompts him then, and watches as his cheeks turn red and his eyes turn downcast, avoiding her eyes. She tips her chin up and smiles a bit for him, half-hearted and small, but it's a start.

"Not when my heart and all of me still belongs to you," he finishes and Cora feels like her heart might burst out from her chest. She feels tears prickle her eyes, and she sniffs, leans down and takes his lips in another passion filled kiss.

He responds with as much passion as she doles out, and she feels his hand rubbing down her sides, leaving goosebumps in his wake, sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

His kisses fall from her lips, to her jaw, down to what little part of her neck is exposed by her pesky little dress. Why she'd decided to wear this stupid dress on this particular event, she'll never know, and honestly, it's just getting in the way.

Quickly making her move before she regrets her decision and changes her mind, she pulls his hand to her side where the zipper is, and without words urges him to unzip her from her dress. He looks at her in amazement and concern, asking her for the permission she knows she'll willingly give. She nods, small and imperceptible, but nods nonetheless and he seems to take the hint. Slowly, almost torturously, he lowers the zipper until her skin is exposed. She doesn't waste time, manages to get out of her dress without unseating herself from his lap. She throws the dress to the backseat without second thought just as his lips fall to the valley between her breasts, kissing, licking, nipping and nibbling on her skin.

She lets out a long moan when he sucks her skin just above the lace of her bra.

She reaches out behind her and unclasps the lingerie, pulls the straps from her shoulders and arms, and bares her breasts to him for the first time. His eyes widen and his hands tighten on her hips again before sliding up and up, until the warm palms of his hand are resting just under her tits.

"Cora..." he breathes, his voice low and husky. Cora feels sexy, feels empowered and sultry, feels cherished, and she's not sure how he does it, but he does and she feels good. "Cora, you're stunning." There is such affection in his eyes that it sucks Cora right in. "Are you sure?"

She bites down on her lips. Yes and no, she wants to say. She is ready for more than just his kisses, but she's not sure she wants their first time in his car. There is a part of her that's scared, however, that this might be the only time.

"I am," she assures him, trying to sound more certain than she feels.

"If you don't feel comfortable..." he trails off, and she can tell that he wants this, can feel his cock against the apex of her thighs—raised and ready for action, but she can also tell that he's holding back, for her. The thought warms her heart.

"I am," she tells him quickly. "I am sure about this, that is. And I am comfortable, just..."

"You don't want out first time inside my Bentley?" he asks, smiling softly at her as embarrassment fills her and makes her cheeks flare. She nods softly, and he kisses her forehead. God, to always have this feeling. "Neither do I."

She sighs and then shakes her head. "It doesn't mean we have to stop," she tells him. She smiles when he looks confused. "There are other ways..." She grins at him, one that he returns when he catches on her meaning. "And before you ask, I do really want you." To prove her point, she takes his hand in his and pushes his fingers down the waistband of her lace panties to let him know exactly how much she wants this.

He groans, head falling against her shoulder. He doesn't need more urging than that, though, because in the next second, he takes her lips in his, kisses her with so much passion it makes her dizzy.

Meanwhile, his fingers find her clit and rub circles around it, making her hips buck when he presses down on it for one second before going back to rubbing circles. She's so fucking wet for him—sopping and slippery like a soap. He, in turn, is so hard for her that it's a task for her to get his zipper down and free his cock from its confines. She does it, though, with very minimal damage to him, and he groans, head falling back against the head rest as her warm hands close around his long, hard length.

He is long and hard and really ready for her, there's even a bit of pre-cum leaking at the head, and she rubs that moisture around his tip, plays with him using her thumb first before she pumps him up and down. His mouth finds her nipples and he sucks, hard and long, eliciting a loud moan from her. His fingers playing with her clit urges her to kneel to give him more access, and he pulls back from her just a little to pull her panties out and off her hips and legs, discarding it on the back seat. It lands somewhere next to her dress, not that she particularly cares at the moment.

Her legs quaver when he pushes one finger inside her wet, hot slit, pumping in and out before he adds another and then another, making her delirious and a babbling hot mess. She throws her head back and thrusts her chest upward, back arching, and he catches one nipple into his mouth again just as his other hand come down to play with her clit. He's talented, very much so, and it doesn't take long for him to make her come, mewling and moaning, babbling in his arms.

She takes a moment to breathe, head falling onto his shoulder, before she focuses her attention on his neglected cock, grinning when she sees him still hard and standing in attention for her. She makes quick work, and pumps up and down his hard length, wanting nothing more than to put him inside her mouth and suck him for all his worth until he's coming on her tongue, cum spurting down her throat. That'll have to wait, she supposes, and right now she sates herself with kissing him deeply and sucking on his tongue as he cums with a loud cry. He spurts on her stomach, and she pulls away to smile at him, forehead falling against his, before she pecks him once again.

They sag against each other, spent but sated.

She still doesn't know what's next, but she does know that right now, right here, they've shared something beautiful and real, and for now, she lets herself be contented with that.

She'll worry about the rest later.

* * *

So originally, I thought there's some eating out and more sucking happening in this chapter, but Cobert had other plans. Maybe in the next chapter then I can beat them to submission! hahaha Let me know whatcha all think!


	7. Chapter 7

_This is for my beautiful baby sis, Zai, who brings light into my life and is always encouraging and motivating, understanding and sweet as sugar. It's a bit lae, but happy birthday my darling. You're a year older, but you will always be our bby. I love ya._

 **Unbeta-ed. Sorry for the mistakes. Please enjoy regardless!**

 **Thanks so much for sticking with me and my fics. I know I'm a slowpoke. If you want/demand an explanation, just head to my tumblr, I gave a short version of the events. Thanks for understanding and being the sweetest people on the planet. Love all of you, too.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

"What now?"

Cora turns to Robert who is sitting next to her in the car, eyes boring into her, and her heart races while she finds that she hasn't the answer to that. It seems _later_ could not come sooner.

She adjusts the collar of her dress, now back on her body and off the floor of his car, and tries to think of what to say next. She knows what she should say, that none of this should have happened _now_ , that she is sorry she did not have much of a control, but it's not like he does not share half the blame. If she had wanted it, he obviously had wanted it, too, or they wouldn't be here now.

She knows they are bound to have this conversation, anyhow, but she wishes it did not have to be...well, right this moment when she just had one of, if not the best orgasms she has ever had in her life, and in a car nonetheless, but it seems that she doesn't have much choice in the matter.

She looks down and shrugs. "I don't know," she says, and that seems to be a good enough answer, as it is the only answer she has right now. Of course, she'd be lying if she says that she doesn't want them to take it to the next level, to date, to be together, but she cannot just suggest that and ignore all the danger they already have established from their previous conversations.

"Neither do I," he murmurs as he looks away. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel and Cora could see the worry and agitation in his eyes, and she wonders if he regrets it. She knows _she_ , at least, doesn't, although she cannot help but wish that it's happened at a better time with better circumstances.

She bites down on her lips and gathers as much courage as she can muster to ask him, "Do you think we should talk about it?"

He nods but doesn't say anything else other than, "Put on your seatbelt," before he speeds away.

 **. . . . .**

He should win an award for the stupidest man on the planet. After all, who else could top the stupidity he's just shown tonight?

He really is just one bad decision after another.

He doesn't regret it, what's happened...okay maybe he does a little. Not because of what they had done, because he knows he can never regret that, but because of the time, the place, and the circumstance in which it had happened. He should have done better, should have treated her better, should have waited until things get better before he'd done what he had.

He could just about smack himself in the head.

He can feel Cora's apprehension radiating from where she is seated beside him in the car, but she tells himself there is time to reassure her, to say the right things even if he does not know what on earth those could be. He tries to steal a glance at her, and finds her sitting there with a blank look on her face.

His house isn't that far from where the gallery is, and in a few more minutes they arrive, partly thanks to the late hour and lighter traffic. He parks his car on his driveway and thanks Rosamund for whisking his daughter away for a sleepover in her house since she'd known he'd get in a little late. Rosamund had not been in favour of him going if he was to take Jane with him, but she has never been able to deny her niece, and so despite Mary's "most irksome father", she'd taken the girl in.

He gets out first and helps Cora out, leading her to the door. He opens it quickly and ushers her inside.

"Would you like anything to drink?" he asks her as he shows her the living room and gestures to the couch.

She hesitates at first but then goes to take a seat before saying, "I'll have whatever you're having."

He nods and disappears to the kitchen, leaving her alone for a few minutes. She might need a few minutes alone to gather herself, as he too needs it, and some time on their own might be good for the nerves. His mind still reels even as he reaches to get a bottle of scotch and pours it in his glass. He downs it in one gulp before filling it again, and filling another glass for Cora.

He knows he should say that this should not have happened, that he should have waited, that he is sorry to put her in this situation, but it does take two to tango, and they have long since established their feelings for each other. It seems organic to have taken this step, except there is nothing organic at all about their situation.

He also knows he should tell her that this could not happen again, but damn, they have tried everything that came after that speech but that had not really worked.

"Robert?" he hears her soft voice calling for him, and he turns to find her standing at the threshold, looking very worried and almost deathly afraid.

He feels the same, to be honest.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately, "I was just thinking and I..." he pauses for a second to pick up the glass of drink he poured for her and hands it to her. "Do you like scotch?"

She covers the distance between them and stands next to him, accepting the proffered drink. "Thank you," she tells him. "It's not my favourite, but I don't hate it."

He nods, and silence sits between them uncomfortably.

"Where is Mary tonight?" she asks, and he doesn't want to but he falls a little bit harder into her. She doesn't have to worry about Mary, but she does.

"With my sister, having a sleepover," he answers, trying not to show her how deep he's fallen, trying to tell himself that he can't have fallen that hard.

Oh, but he has.

"I didn't know you had a sister," she comments lightly, and God, this isn't supposed to be this awkward—after what had happened in his car, the last thing they should be doing is skirting around each other, tiptoeing like they're walking on eggshells.

"I do," he says instead of saying what he really wants to say like, _I want you Cora, not just for tonight but forever._ "One sister, father, and a very annoying mother—typical."

She nods. "I have a brother," she tells him needlessly. It isn't time for chitchat.

They both know that.

Silence.

Dead fucking silence, as they both find the words to say...probably.

She finds them first, it seems, as she pipes us with a soft, almost shaking voice. "Did you regret it?" she asks, and he knows what she means, can see in her eyes the insecurity she's trying very hard to hide.

"I do," he begins, but the hurt in her eyes gives him a pause and he curses himself for putting it there... _again._ "But not in the way you think. I only regret the time and the place, and this awful, miserable circumstance we have found ourselves in." The explanation seems to sink in on her and she looks at him with less pain in her eyes. There is pain there, he can tell, but it isn't as bad as it had been before. "But I can never regret what we did...I can never regret kissing you, and feeling you, and tasting you. I can never regret loving you."

He doesn't know when he'd started to get closer or lean his head down, but he does know she belongs there with him as his lips presses down on hers.

 **. . .**

Cora isn't sure what's happened. One minute she could feel the weight of the world crushing her as he admits that he regrets what had happened between them that night, and then the next he's kissing her so thoroughly it feels as though he's righting her world once more.

The kiss goes on and on, and she almost wishes that they don't stop, but kissing does not help resolve things, doesn't work out things as well as words might. His kiss could mean a thousand different things, and she would much rather that they talk now and resolve it, and then hopefully, kiss some more later.

Reluctantly and regretfully, she pulls away from him and stands back a little as to not tempt herself further.

"As much as I loved that..." she begins as he nods.

"It doesn't help anything, I know," he agrees, standing back a little as well so there is a considerable berth between them.

She sighs. "I just...I don't know where we stand now. Do you want me to keep my distance? Do I have to pretend like I don't feel for you what I do? I know there are dangers and risks, and I am still not over those...but..."

He places his finger on her lips to shush her, and smiles. It seems like he's made the decision for the both of them. "I'm so tired of doing that, and quite honestly it doesn't work. It hasn't worked."

She studies him for a moment, to gauge how serious he is being. He looks about a hundred percent genuine, and hope blooms in her chest, making her smile, until she can't hold back anymore and she throws her arms around her, hugging him tightly. She feels his arms come around her and pull her closer. And god damn, she's so happy she could actually cry.

"This is it now," he murmurs against her ear. " _We_ are it now."

 **. . . . .**

He asks her to stay the night.

But she declines. She tells him that she doesn't know how the night will end if they are together in the same bed. Although they have straightened things out and have now established that they will be giving it a go, they still want a bit more stability before they actually have their first time together. Besides, as she'd pointed out, she doesn't want Mary or his sister to stumble into them in bed together and have to explain everything before they are both ready.

It is a good idea, really, it just doesn't mean he can't pout about it.

And he does, as he sits inside his car outside her apartment, the engine turned off for the time being. He can't give her a proper goodbye here (already had given her a thorough one in his house before they'd left), because it is near campus and he doesn't want to run in on other students seeing them in such a compromising position.

"I'll see you soon enough," she tells him, in almost a cajoling fashion, though there is a sparkle in her eye and she is grinning.

"Not soon enough," he argues although he finally he relinquishes the tight hold he has on her hand.

She smiles at him, and he fights the urge to pull her back and kiss her. He manages to stay put until she is inside the building, waiting only a few minutes, in case something happens. Nothing happens, though, and after deeming it safe, he drives home.

His house is empty and quiet. It always is, at this time of the night. Somehow, though, tonight, he could feel the acute silence and loneliness. Cora's presence has made its mark in him, his daughter, and now—even as briefly as she had been—his house. Not much different from his life, he supposes—as short as the time that she's been in it, she's made such mark that the thought of not having her in it (whichever way she allows) makes him instantly empty.

He wonders if she feels the same way.

 _Ding!_

His phone goes off and vibrates on the other end of the couch where he'd thrown it earlier. Fetching it from where it had wedged between cushion and couch, he swipes on the screen and unlocks it. He hadn't realized he's been frowning until his lips pulled up at the corners and his shoulders relaxed. It is her, she's texting him (as they have exchanged numbers before he drove her home), and it sends a thrill to him that he has long since thought he was over with.

He feels like a boy with his first crush...and if his memory serves him well, his first crush hadn't been this...this amazing.

He shakes his head and focuses on the message she had sent him.

' _Don't sulk. Pouting doesn't become you,'_ it reads, and she sends it with a smiling emoji or whatever that's called, and he chuckles.

He presses _reply_ and types up his response: _'Are you telling me that you don't find it cute? x',_ and then hits send.

It takes only a short time for her to reply. _'I find it absolutely hot, Professor,'_ she says with a wink emoji, making his heart race at the sexual innuendo. He briefly berates himself for thinking so untowardly, but the memory of their encounter in his car flashes in his mind. After that, hardly anything at all can be 'not sexual' between them anymore.

And the thought makes him hard where he's been aching for her for a long time...longer than he cares to admit. Her message makes him wonder if she is into that scene. He typically isn't since it's his actual profession and thinking that way about any of his students just seems so very wrong in so many degrees, but he's got to admit—thinking about her in that way makes him hot and bothered.

This is _not_ the time to think of her in that way.

He groans and then types up a response.

' _Don't start something neither of us can finish, Ms. Levinson,'_ he warns, and he knows he is playing with fire, but he can't stop himself. His brain can't stop seeing her in all her glory, naked in his arms, sitting on his lap and coming hard for him.

He bites back another groan and forces himself not to think about it until he can do something about it...like explode inside of her.

That isn't exactly a good thing to think about, he knows, because he can't do anything about it at the moment. He will only end up even more frustrated than he already is, and his current predicament (i.e., being hard as all fuck) isn't all that easy—he doesn't want to add more trouble for himself.

Oh, but Cora is trouble, alright. The kind of trouble he doesn't really mind having.

 _Ding!_

Another message: _'I'll keep that in mind in the future, Dr. Crawley. But for right now, I'm going to head to bed and dream of you.'_

He smiles. She is so very sweet, to a fault, at times, but he finds that it endears her even more to him.

He quickly types up a response:

 _'Goodnight, love. I'll be dreaming sweet dreams of you too. x'_

 **. . . . .**

Cora wakes up to a beautiful day, the sun seemingly smiling down at her as its rays peek through the curtains, hitting her skin. It makes her smile, in a way that it hasn't in a while now. The world outside might be a little dull and a little gray, but she had found her own little sunshine, and its light warms her to her core.

It hasn't been 24 hours since, but Cora just feels the happiness thrumming in her veins.

She tries to be ignorant to the consequences of the development of her relationship with Robert. It's not that hard when she remembers how blue his eyes are, how wonderful his smile is, and the way he'd kissed her...no it isn't very difficult to forget the ramifications and it's absolutely, positively fucking blissful.

She turns in her bed and reaches for her phone. It is a bad habit, she knows, a habit she has tried not to give in to, checking her phone first thing in the morning, and for the most part she had succeeded, but for the first time in a long time, she has found a reason to check her phone first thing...and it is Robert.

It's half past seven, and it's early, a little too early for a Saturday when she is supposed to be sleeping in, but it's a good day, and she wants to take advantage of that.

She isn't sure if Robert is up, they had been up pretty late last night, and she tries not to be disappointed in case she doesn't get a good morning text. After all, she is an adult and not a teenager in the throes of her first love. Although technically, she is in the throes of her first love, she knows it is more than just teenage love. What she has with Robert, no matter how it ends, it's something serious, something she would never forget till her olden days.

She is pleasantly surprised to find a message waiting for her. It is from Robert wishing her a good morning, and she smiles—stupidly, she knows—and then quickly types up a response of the similar sentiment.

She pushes herself out of bed after that, and takes her phone with her as she walks to the bathroom and brushes her teeth and washes her face.

The flat is surprisingly and pleasantly warm and toasty as she tiptoes her way to the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits her senses and the smell of eggs makes her stomach growl. She walks in the kitchen and finds Phyllis sitting on the stool, sipping coffee.

"Good morning," she greets her roommate with an all too perky smile, making her roommate's eyebrow rise.

"You're cheerful," Phyllis notes flatly, though there is a hint of question in the statement.

Cora rolls her eyes as she fetches a cup and fills it with coffee, milk, and two teaspoons of sugar. She shrugs and she turns to look at her roommate. "Good morning to you, too, Cora," she mocks. She walks over to the counter and takes a seat, before poking at the eggs that Phyllis had made, taking a forkful and shoving it in her mouth.

"Good morning," Phyllis greets with a roll of her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Cora chews thoughtfully and then swallows, shrugging. "I am, why should I not be?"

Phyllis looks at her like she has gone crazy, and maybe she has. "Why shouldn't you be?" Phyllis repeats. "Oh I don't know. Maybe because you left last night, all mopey and sad, and then you come back late only to wake up all..." she trails off as she gestures to Cora wildly. "Well, that...happy and smiley. Did aliens take over your body?"

Cora laughs and shakes her head. "They did not. I'm just feeling better about life in general."

"This coming from the woman who spent the last few weeks sulking," Phyllis replies, clearly not buying into it. "Did you...oh my god, please tell me you did not have sex with that walking carrot stick!" Phyllis looks absolutely horrified at the thought, and she looks a little green at the gills.

Huh.

Although truthfully, Cora thinks she might vomit, too.

"Hold up, wait, what? No!" Cora exclaims, and her roommate stares her in the eyes for a while before nodding, believing her. They both sigh in relief.

"Okay, I believe that, but don't tell me you didn't get some last night," she argues, making Cora balk.

Cora's eyes widen, and she swears she feels the heat climbing to her cheeks, and without even looking she knows she'd just blushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Still, she tries to play it off and feign innocence. She doubts it will work.

"What? No, of course not. What even gave you that idea?" She winces internally as she hears the too-high pitch of her voice. She's caught, she knows it.

"Uh-huh," Phyllis says, nodding patronizingly. "Then why are you blushing 50 shades of red right now, looking guilty as fuck? And please, don't tell me you just scratched that red mark on your neck. It looks like a hickey."

Cora's hand flies up to her neck where Robert had sucked last night. They hadn't talked about marks, and honestly she doesn't really give a flying fuck, but she also worries that people would find out and they'd be in trouble.

"Oh my God," Phyllis suddenly exclaims, and Cora's head snaps up to look at her roommate who now looks like she just saw a ghost. "Did you...you and Robert?"

It isn't possible to blush more, it cannot be, but somehow she is, and if that isn't a dead giveaway then Cora isn't sure what is. She grapples for words to explain, but none come, and she squeaks (actually squeaks!) as she looks pointedly away from her roommate.

"Cora," her roommate insists, and it isn't like Cora can deny it at this point. If it isn't her burning her cheeks, then the hickey is as good as a proof as it can get.

"We didn't...you know, well we did not. It isn't like that." She is flustered as she tries and fails to explain. What words can she use to explain what happened last night? Are there even words? And if there were, does she want to share it?

Her friend looks puzzled but seems like she's physically restraining herself from asking more, wanting Cora to divulge the details she wants.

She also looks worried, and it isn't like Cora can fault her for that. So many things about this situation is worrisome.

Cora bites down on her lip. "We didn't have sex, if that's what you're asking but trying not to ask directly," she continues, slowly drawling each word as if that helps her with her explanation. She doesn't owe Phyllis any explanation, though, and that she knows, but since her roommate had basically been her shoulder to cry on through the days when she'd been depressed and moping, it's not totally fair to shut her out now.

"Okay," Phyllis says with just as long a drawl.

Cora tries not to die of shame.

"We didn't...but we _did_ do some things..." she trails off, hoping against hope that her roommate would take the hint.

It seems she does, but still, she opens her mouth—seemingly poised to ask another question would make Cora want to bury herself, but just then her phone rings.

Cora has never been happier to have a call.

"Saved by the bell," Phyllis mutters.

Cora just chuckles.

 **. . . . .**

It's a wonderful morning to wake up to, Robert thinks, heaving a deep sigh, feeling relieved—as though a heavy weight has been lifted from his chest.

In a way, that's true. Trying to keep his feelings for Cora at bay had been a real burden. He can no longer stop falling for Cora as he can stop his breathing and continue to live. It just isn't possible. Though he can think of a hundred reasons why this thing is a mistake and wrong and might just end up in flames, burning them both as it disintegrates, he can think of a thousand more reasons that makes it worth it.

Smiling derisively at himself for becoming such a lovelorn fool so early in the morning, Robert rolls in his bed and reaches for his phone. He knows he's smiling somewhat stupidly as he sends a good morning text to Cora like some teenaged boy, but the simple gestures makes him feel things in his chest that he has long since thought he would never feel again.

It feels good though, feels good to be free—as free as this can get anyway. It feels good to feel these emotions again. It might end badly, he hasn't discounted that very big possibility yet, but he wants to work twice as hard to ensure that it doesn't.

He doesn't think he has ever felt this way, not even for Mary's mother (bless her), and it's such a terrifying feeling, so frightening but so thrilling at the same time.

He pushes his tired body out of the bed and tries to get on the day. It is a Saturday and he would have loved to sleep in, but his internal alarm clock just doesn't allow for that, and besides he is about to pick up his little girl from Rosamund's, and as much as he loves spending time with Cora (he can't even wait to do it again), he'd missed his darling little lamb, and can't wait to hear her giggling again. Maybe they can both spend time with Cora? After all, if anything—he knows that whatever he has with Cora is serious and eventually, when everything settles, they would have to introduce Cora to Mary. He knows they've met and know each other, and that Mary almost hero worships Cora, but it's different once Robert introduces her as his girlfriend, as something of a permanent fixture in Mary's life.

It might be jumping the gun a little, and he knows that he and Cora haven't spoken about it yet, but he knows both the women in his life would be nothing less than thrilled to be in each other's company.

Maybe he'll speak to Cora about it later and see what she thinks, if she'd like to meet them at the park. They could just easily explain that as a coincidence, and get away with it.

He ponders it as he steps into the shower, and then later when he makes breakfast. He's been tempted to just ask when Cora had replied to his message earlier, but his mind gets distracted at the image of her barefaced, eyes bleary and her smile sleepy as she wakes up in the morning. She must look so adorable, and he knows one day he will get the chance to finally know that for sure.

He cannot wait for that day.

Finally, when he'd washed his plates and put them away and he has settled in the living room, waiting for time to pass, he makes the decision to stop being indecisive and just let Cora to decide if she's ready and willing to spend time with him and his daughter. It might be hurrying things a bit, they have only cleared things up—and barely, at that too—last night, but it isn't like he's introducing them for the first time.

All the arguments he'd made in his head earlier still sounded good to him.

Giving in to the urge, he calls her up. She picks up on the third ring, sounding cheerful. He smiles.

"How are you doing, beautiful?" he asks softly, eyes closing as he pictures her smiling face. She is a beautiful girl, and he never would understand what she sees in him, but he isn't about to complain.

"Hello," she greets, her voice cheerful. "I'm good. I had a really good sleep and sweet dream last night. How are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, thank you love," he responds. "I do hope your dream had been of me, of us." He is an idiot. He sounds like an idiot. But he is an idiot in love.

"Always," she admits coyly, and he imagines the small, shy but nonetheless seductive smile painting her pink lips. God, he wants to kiss her. "What are you doing today?"

Now would be the time to ask her.

His heart knocks on his chest. He's half afraid it would drop on the floor.

"I'm picking Mary up from my sister's in an hour," he tells her. A pause. He gathers his courage as much as he can. Where had he left those damn courage? He needs them now but can't seem to find them.

"Robert?" he hears Cora's voice calling his name in askance. "You okay?"

He gulps. Damn it. "Er, yeah, I am," he tells her. And what the bloody hell is the big deal. _Just fucking ask her, you wanker_ , he thinks to himself. "I was wondering..."

Words escape him. Not very usual, if he says so himself.

"Yes?" Cora urges. He hears the anticipation in her voice.

"Would you like to spend time with me and Mary today at the park?" he asks, the words sounding like he'd spat it out in one breath. His heart continues to knock in his chest.

Silence.

Just utter, fucking, deafening silence. He should have not asked. He's rushing her. She'll think that he's rushing her.

"Cora?"

He hears her breathing. He closes his eyes and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Are you sure that's wise?" she asks him, hesitant.

He'd debated with himself over that, too.

"We'll buy you lunch." He chokes out the words, meant to be a joke, but they leave a bad taste in his mouth.

She breathes out then. "Well who can refuse that offer?" she asks him lightly, making his heart stop and then go again. He thought for sure that the other shoe would drop and the world around him would fall apart.

He doesn't even know, now, why.

"Great," he says, enthused. "We'll meet you at the park near the campus? I'd pick you up but..."

"It's more inconspicuous this way," she supplies, and he smiles, grateful. "I'll see you in an hour."

"See you in an hour, love."

. . . . .

Cora thinks her ovaries might explode or something.

She's never really thought it possible before, but, right now, right then—seeing Robert as the best version of himself, even better than when he's lecturing, seeing Robert be so natural with Mary, just seeing Robert _be_ a father—Cora feels like she might need to go to the Doctor.

It's not just hot—though it is that, too—but it's heart warming, touching. He is in his element, and the smile on his face makes him look younger than his years. It's as though the weight on his shoulder has been lifted. She hopes that she somehow has contributed to that, but she knows as she feels it too, that is simply being here. It's sitting here, despite the cold, despite the unlikely and bound to be disastrous if it blows up in their faces situation they are in, it's being here with the people he cares for and adores that does wonder to his heart.

She wonders now as Mary comes charging towards her making her laugh, why she'd been apprehensive at first about this little outing. It isn't even about being caught, they could bluff their way out of this, and with Mary there, it's innocent enough, but she'd been scared. Perhaps, it's the knowledge now that this adorable little girl is the daughter of the man she loves, perhaps it is the novelty of spending this time with the people she loves but not being able to fully shower them with the love and affection she feels, or perhaps it's both, but she'd been anxious to say the least.

A shrieking but overjoyed Mary barrelling towards her in surprise and happiness had been enough to melt those worries away though, and for the last few hours, they'd been playing and getting better reacquainted. Her jaws and cheeks hurt from smiling too much, but she does think that her smile would last for a while.

They're having way too much fun to stop or worry about the world outside the little bubble they had created for themselves. But, Mary's stomach had other plans, and its loud growling alerted the two adults that perhaps it is time to get that lunch.

Laughing, Cora offers her hand to the little girl. Her heart skips several beats when Mary takes it without hesitation and launches on a babble of how hungry she is and what she'd want for lunch. Cora has never thought of motherhood before. She's always been fond of kids, but those kids she can return to their parents and she'd still have a good night's sleep. There is something about Mary though that just ignites every mother instinct she has in her body. It might seem too early in the game, and there are still about a hundred and one ways that this newfound relationship she has with Mary's father would burn to the ground, but Cora knows in her hearts of hearts, knows it with certainty and without a hint of doubt that she'll love this little girl like her own, already does love the little girl like her own, and that if things go right between her and Robert, she and Mary could be very good for each other.

She squeezes the little girl's hand and smiles down at her, thinking of how adorable she is and how much Cora really does already love her.

When she turns to Robert, he is sporting the same stupid grin she knows she has on her face.

Somehow, that reassures her.

The world might fight to keep them apart, but from here on out, they'll fight harder to stay together.

Together, they'd fight to choose love.

* * *

 **Note: Raise your hand up if you're as excited for the Downton movie! Let me know what you guys would like to see in the movie! I'd personally want some Cobert terrific fun, but if not that then I just want them to have a sincere and honest conversation about loving each other and about growing and being old together. Also let me know if you liked this chapter! Hopefully, I get to update more consistently. I'm not holding my breath, but pray for me lol**


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